Choices and Consequences
by Aeowynn
Summary: Right before Alyn Lavellan returns from future Redcliffe, Solas tells her who he really is. Faced with the truth about the man she found herself falling in love with, she must make difficult choices when it comes to herself and her beliefs. Solas must deal with the consequences of the actions made by his future self, and wonders why he had revealed his secrets in the first place.
1. Choices

**Chapter 1: Choices**

It was getting more and more difficult to stay awake. Once, Solas would have welcomed sleep with open arms, would have spent the hours exploring the world of dreamers and spirits, conversing with old friends that he felt more of a kinship with than the people in the waking world. Now there was nothing there when he slept. His friends - spirits of Wisdom, Purpose, Valor – had been corrupted when the Veil had torn the skies apart before it had vanished entirely. The companions he had gotten to know and fought beside in the waking world had not fared much better, and all of it was the fault of the Elder One.  
 _No_ , his foggy mind reminded him. He may not have been the one to tear open the veil, may not have been the one who caused the explosion at the Conclave, may not have been the one to massacre the people of Thedas, but whether directly or indirectly, the fault was _his_.

And the death that hurt him the most was the death of Alyn Lavellan.

The Herald of Andraste, they had called the Dalish elf, and she had despised it. She had hated how she had been thrust into events that she'd had no control over; had hated the way Josephine had tried to make her play dress up in front of visiting Nobles who before the mark had appeared on her hand would have taken one look at her and dismissed her as an "elf savage", unworthy of their time.

She had refused the new gear they had provided for her, had stared at the sturdy leather boots with such a peculiar look on her face that it had almost made him laugh, and instead of wearing it she had remained clad in the same tight chainmail underlay, dark blue tunic that reached down her knees, held together with a leather belt, and red scarf that she had worn when she had left her clan all those months ago; much to Josephine's dismay. Despite the reluctance of accepting the title and the gear however, she had not been ignorant to the larger threat that loomed over them and had remained focused on the arduous task of stopping it. Of stopping _his_ mistake, a fact she had not known.

"I'm not dressing up so that the humans can have an easier time accepting me," she had scoffed one evening as they were both sat in front of the fireplace in his small cabin at Haven, having had yet another debate about the history and lore of the elvhen.

It had become a nightly ritual for months; her visiting him, listening to his stories and writing them down in an overly fancy, leather bound journal that she had requested from Josephine. The Ambassador had apparently been so overjoyed that the Dalish elf had requested _anything_ from her that she had sent for the journal from a ridiculously fancy shop in Orlais. _"If Dalish lore is wrong, then I will make sure that we get it right,"_ the mage had told him when her visits had first started before she had sat down on the floor, opened the - back then - blank journal and looked at him expectantly with her sky blue eyes. Listening had not meant that she accepted his stories without debate however, and he had found himself enjoying her questions as she poked and prodded at his information, trying to see if they were as real and true as he claimed them to be.

"You may not have a choice in the matter," he had replied carefully. "The Inquisition is still in its infancy and will need all the help it can get. Playing by the human Nobles' rules would make it easier to get their support."

That had earned him another scoff.

"The _Breach_ should be their biggest concern, not whether or not I choose to play a part so that their fragile egos can have an easier time accepting that an _elf_ holds the key to closing it," she had snapped, slamming her journal shut and placing it next to her before running a hand over her chin length dark brown hair as she stared into the fire. She had been angry, not at him, but at the events that had played out during their visit to Val Royeaux earlier that day. "Besides, everyone has a choice."

"Choices are easy to make, living with the consequences of our decisions is the difficult part."  
He of all people knew what that felt like. After all, the consequence of his latest ill-fated decision was in plain sight on Alyn's hand. Not that it would stop his plans; he still had a mission and would still go through with it once his orb was returned to him. His statement had made her gaze shift to him and she stared at him so intensely, it was as if she was trying to read his mind. She had done that often lately, especially since they had grown closer, and he had wondered if she would one day see through his deception and lies. He had returned the stare before he had cleared his throat and smiled.

"No matter what the humans might think of you, they certainly cannot deny seeing your indomitable focus hard at work."

She had snorted at that, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

"I doubt they would find the sight of it being dominated as fascinating as you would, Solas," she had retorted, returning to stare at the fire with a smile on her lips.

The flirting had been a mistake. From the moment it had begun he knew that it had been a bad idea, a bad decision, but he had made no attempts at stopping it. Instead he had relished the way her cheeks had turned a soft shade of pink when it had first happened, had enjoyed the warm feelings that filled him when she had responded in kind. It had meant nothing of course, or so he had told himself as the comments and playful banters continued over weeks that turned into months. It would change nothing, he had kept telling himself as he had remained focused on his main goal.

Then she had died, nothing remaining of her body but ashes, and he had realised that she had changed _everything_.

His heart still ached as he thought of her, even though it had been a year since her death, and knowing that it was his decisions that had indirectly caused it cut him the most. He had been a fool, in more ways than one, and now he lived with the consequences of all of his decisions, the burden of what his pride had wrought lying heavy on his shoulders. He deserved the cage he was trapped in, deserved the red lyrium poisoning that slowly ate at his body and mind. He deserved fates even worse than this, yet he could not help but stare down the prison guards that came to his cell once every day to check on the red lyrium's progress, glaring at them through lyrium foggy eyes as he stood tall and refused to let them see his suffering. Rebellious to the very end, as the Dread Wolf would be. Once it had been his greatest pride, now it was his greatest folly.

When he heard the door to the prison cells open for the second time that day he knew that the end would come. He had long wondered if the Venatori would tire of waiting for the lyrium to kill him and end it themselves before they harvested the red crystals from his corpse. From what he had overheard them say in the past he was one of the last prisoners who remained alive, and the Elder One had little patience when it came to his precious red lyrium.  
Standing with his back towards his cell door he heard their footsteps as they entered the room, heard the door to his cell open, and he took a deep breath as he readied himself for the end before he turned around, only to jerk back in shock. Alyn was standing in front of him, alive and well and blue eyes looking at him with a deep concern he knew he did not deserve. Dorian, who they had all thought to have perished with Alyn a year earlier, was standing next to her and Solas blinked once, twice before he accepted that they were not illusions.

"You're alive? We saw you die!" His voice was dry and weak and he couldn't hide the way it cracked as he stared at the elven woman.

It was the Tevinter who answered him, explaining that Alexius' time magic had not killed them but had moved them forward in time. Solas' mind spun as it digested the information, working faster than it had in months. Displacement, not death; a second chance at saving the world from his folly.

"Can you reverse the process? You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late!"

"That is the plan," Dorian answered, a cheerful smile on his face, most likely placed there to mask the doubt the Tevinter mage might have felt.

The pair had already found Grand Enchanter Fiona, who in her dying breaths urged them to find Leliana. Their next step was to find Alexius and the amulet he had used to send them through time. Solas nodded as he listened, found renewed strength in this new piece of hope.

"You look... bad. Is there anything I can do to help?" It was the first time Alyn had said anything since they had arrived and the worry in her voice nearly made him recoil in shame and pain. He did not deserve her concern, did not deserve her compassion, and before she went back to her time he would make sure that she agreed with his silent thoughts. There and then he had made a new choice, and his past self would face the consequences. He met her gaze and could not help the way his heart squeezed at the sight of her. She was alive.

"I am dying, vhenan, but no matter. If I can help you return, to prevent any of this from happening then my life is yours. This world is an abomination; it must never come to pass."  
His term of endearment made her eyes widen slightly in surprise but she said nothing, and the worry did not disappear from her features as she looked at him.  
They found him a staff in one of the empty cells, and as they moved he tried to give them as much information as possible that they could bring back to their time; anything that would help them gain an advantage over the Elder One.

It did not take them long to find Blackwall cowering in another cell. Worse off than Solas, it took Alyn and Dorian a lot of coaxing to convince the burly Grey Warden that they were in fact real and very much alive. After having rescued Leliana, who had suffered through months of torture and wanted nothing but revenge, they moved on to the throne room where Alexius had been hiding for months. When they found the room barricaded by a door protected by unknown magic, Solas found his chance to warn Alyn. Dorian was busy examining the door to try to figure out how to breach it, and Solas walked up to her, brushed a hand over her elbow and moved his mouth to her ear.

"May I have a word?"

She turned her head to look at him, concern still etched in her eyes, before she gave him a subtle nod and let herself be led away from the others until they were out of earshot. He knew that he did not have enough time to tell her everything, but if Dorian succeeded with his plan to return them, Solas would make sure that his past self would be forced to talk. Placing his hands on Alyn's shoulders, he leaned his head closer and spoke in hushed whispers.

"My past self, the Solas who will be standing in the throne room once you walk back out through the time rift, do not trust him, vhenan."

She frowned in confusion. From the look in her eyes he could see that she was taking his words in but was having a difficult time believing what she was hearing.

"I don't understand. Why-?"

"I would tell you everything if I knew that we had the time. I would not place this burden on you unless I had any other choice. Make _him_ tell you the truth."

She still looked confused, but finally she nodded as determination filled her eyes.

"How?"

Before he could give her the answer and information she needed, Dorian let out a triumphant cry and turned to look at them with a smile on his face.

"I believe I've figured out how to open this door."

They had to move on, fight through more guards, mages and demons to find the shards needed to unlock the door. Each corridor was more horrifying than the last; the red lyrium covering the walls like haunting sculptures, but all Solas could think of was that he needed to find time to continue his conversation with Alyn. Truthfully, he could have just shouted it for all of them to hear; Leliana, Blackwall and himself would remain in this world after all. But Dorian would not, and Solas would rather him not knowing. For now, this was for her ears alone. What she did with that knowledge later was for her to decide.

Time, it turned out, was yanked from under their feet after they had finally managed to open the door and killed Alexius. The ground shook and he knew that the Elder One had noticed them, noticed Dorian and _her_. They had to leave now or all would be lost and Solas would not, _could not_ , allow that to happen. Blackwall and Leliana had come to the same silent conclusion and their choices were made; he and Blackwall would defend the outer doors to give Dorian the time he needed to cast the spell that would return him and Alyn to the past. Leliana would remain with them in the throne room; the last line of defence.  
Upon hearing their plan Alyn protested angrily, letting them know that she would not let them sacrifice themselves. She gave Solas a pleading glance and he could only stare back at her sadly; that decision was not hers to make, but he would not let her leave without having received the information she needed. He placed a hand on her shoulder, moved her away from the others and this time he spoke more hurriedly.

"Ask him- ask _me_ about the orb and what I plan to do with it. Mention the name Corypheus. I will deny everything, come up with a lie, but mention my real name and I will not be able to remain quiet."

She was holding on to his arms, gripping them tightly, and guilt gnawed at him as he knew that he allowed this to happen. Instead of distancing himself he had let himself develop feelings for her and it was clear that she held the same feelings for him. His only comfort was the knowledge that hers would dissipate as soon as she knew who he truly was; knew what he had done and what his past self was still planning on doing. He hoped that she would be smart enough to distance herself from him after everything had been revealed.

"Real name?" she whispered, her words almost drowned out by the hordes of demons that were slowly approaching the room on the other side of the door.

He was a selfish fool and she would hate him, but even so he couldn't help himself. He pressed his lips against hers, kissing her with the final desperation of a dead man and she was quick to respond, allowing her lips to part for him, letting him taste her, and he did not deserve any of it. He broke the kiss too soon, felt his heart pound faster and faster as he moved his lips to her ear and whispered the name he had not used in years; the name that her people reviled. He felt her tense up under his touch, felt her hands grip his arms tighter, and he pulled back to look at her and face her reaction. There was no hatred in her eyes, no fear, but she had turned significantly paler.

"Why are you telling me this?" she finally asked, her voice strained.

He removed himself from her grip before he backed away and smiled at her sadly.

"Everyone has a choice."

The demons were getting closer, their screams and screeches echoing in the walls, and Solas gave Blackwall a nod before they both walked out of the door. He heard her call after him as it shut behind him but he ignored it as he set all his emotions aside and stared at the swarm ahead. It was too late to stop all of the mistakes that he had made in his lifetime, but she could stop him from going ahead with his past self's latest plan, and he was ready to die knowing that he had, for once, made the right choice. With a cold glare at the demons ahead, he cast a barrier over himself and the Grey Warden, and then he unleashed his rage onto the abomination of a world that his pride had wrought.


	2. Doubt

**Chapter 2: Doubt**

Alyn was exhausted. In the past four days she had barely gotten more than five hours of sleep, and she knew from the way her advisors had looked at her during their morning meeting that they were beginning to suspect something. None of them had mentioned anything though, and she had hidden her bouts of foggy dizziness and nausea behind a stone faced expression. Leliana, Cullen and Josephine did not know her well enough to know that it was just a mask that her friends back in her clan jokingly called her _"Keeper face"_ – an expression used very rarely in their company. To her advisors it was the expression she always wore during their meetings, and she silently prayed that they would not pay enough attention to her to see the cracks that were beginning to form.

Hiding her exhaustion from her companions was another matter entirely; especially since they had gotten to know her well enough to notice when something was amiss, and they would know that something was very wrong when they would realise that she couldn't sleep. Having fought and travelled beside her for months, they had quickly learned two things about her; she could fall asleep in the matter of minutes if she allowed it and once she was asleep it was almost impossible to wake her. They had discovered the second fact one night out in the Hinterlands, when their camp had been attacked by a couple of angry bears. Alyn had slept through the entire thing and had woken up the next morning to a trashed camp, two dead bears, and a very angry looking Cassandra. Varric had not let her live _that_ down for weeks.

Now, as they prepared to head off to the Hinterlands again to complete some final tasks before the rest of the mages arrived to Haven, Alyn knew that they would notice, and they would ask questions; questions she had no wish to answer since the reason for her insomnia would be accompanying them. It was a decision of her own making, since he had always been at her side during their travels, and not bringing him along would make things look suspicious. Solas was, of course, completely oblivious to the role he played in her current worries, but she knew that he would worry with the rest of them, only it would not be honest worry coming from his end.

 _Not Solas_ , she reminded herself while she walked to the gates of Haven where he, Cassandra, and Dorian would be waiting for her. _Fen'Harel_ ; a name whispered in her ear after a kiss that still lingered on her lips. _Do not trust him, vhenan_. His desperate warning from the future still echoed in her mind and the giant lump of anxiety in her stomach had never left her ever since he had revealed his true identity to her.

After they had returned from the future and were back at Haven she had taken Dorian aside and asked him to keep quiet about the kiss. The Tevinter mage had made the promise with a smile and a wink.

"Ah, the thrill of a complicated relationship," he had sighed before he had walked off to the tavern, leaving Alyn feeling so dizzy that she'd had to sit down.

 _A complicated relationship with the Dread Wolf; every Dalish girl's dream._  
She had still not truly believed it at that point, had not _wanted_ to believe. It was absurd, she had told herself while she had fought through the dizziness; absurd to believe that the Dread Wolf, the Bringer of Nightmares, the Great Betrayer and Lord of Tricksters hid in her inner circle, and that it was _Solas_ , the elven hedge mage she had found herself falling in love with. But then, his future self had known what she and her people thought of Fen'Harel when he had confessed his identity to her; had known the stories she had grown up hearing. Still she had found herself trying to come up with any kind of excuse not to believe it, each of them sounding more ridiculous than the next; he was affected by the red lyrium, he was obviously not himself, he had been possessed and did not know what he was saying. Finally, in an attempt to deny that it was true, she had made herself calm down enough to seek out the man in question.

She had avoided Solas during their journey back to Haven, having busied herself with speaking to Grand Enchanter Fiona instead, and during her slow walk over to him she had felt her heart beating faster and faster. He had stood in his usual spot outside his cabin, arms crossed over his chest as he had leaned against the wall slightly. His usual cool gaze had warmed up at the sight of her, the corners of steel blue eyes crinkling when he smiled one of the rare smiles he never seemed to reserve for anyone but her. _Do not trust him, vhenan._

He had congratulated her on the new alliance with the mages and even though he had expressed some slight disbelief that she had truly travelled to the future, he'd had no interest in hearing about his own part in it. In hindsight, she was not sure why she had been at all surprised to hear that. _Make_ him _tell you the truth_ , had echoed in her mind and the lump in her stomach had grown as she had approached the subject carefully, like a hunter scouting ahead on very light steps.

"Solas, in your journeys in the Fade, have you ever heard of the name Corypheus?"

Anyone who had not spent enough time with him would have missed the slight tension in his jaw that had appeared and disappeared in a heartbeat at the mention of the name, and when she had caught it she had felt her heart squeeze so painfully she had feared that she would black out. She did not want to believe, did not want to know, but she could hear her internal screaming when she knew that his - carefully chosen - answer would be a lie.

"No, I cannot say it is a name I have come across. Was it mentioned in this future you were sent to?"

Fen'Harel the Dread Wolf, Bringer of Nightmares, Lord of Tricksters, the Great Betrayer was in her inner circle, having tricked them all, and her gaze travelled down his cream coloured woollen tunic, resting on the necklace she came to realise was the jaw bone of a wolf. She had been a fool.

"It was written in a journal I found. It's an unusual name so it caught my attention." The lie had come easy to her lips, even as she had struggled to look back into his eyes, to keep her voice upbeat. Even as she could hear her blood pounding in her ears as every story of the Dread Wolf that she had grown up hearing echoed in her mind. "It probably doesn't mean anything."

The silence that followed between them seemed to stretch on for seconds, but he had never let his warm smile disappear from his lips, and his eyes remained on hers, intense and unwavering.

"I apologize for not having the answer you seek, although if I am not mistaken I believe it is Tevene. Perhaps your new friend from Tevinter can assist you further."

She had forced herself to smile at him before she had nodded.

"I will ask him. Thank you."

She had not asked Dorian. Instead she had left Haven, had walked until the lump in her stomach had grown too large, until the anxiety had made her chest ache too much and until the dizziness in her head had made her collapse on the ground. She had vomited in the snow and had shaken so violently afterwards that her own body had terrified her.  
She had trusted him, had grown close to him, had fallen in love with him, and now she knew him for what he truly was; a liar, a deceiver, a trickster using them for some ulterior plan that she had yet to figure out. Fen'Harel had given her the clues, had wanted her to know, but she was not ready to know. Not yet. Not while her heart still ached, sucking out the fight in her. She was her Keeper's First, tasked with protecting her clan against the Dread Wolf, and instead of returning to confront him she had remained a pathetic lump in the snow, hiding among the trees.

She had kept hiding after that day; had avoided him in the hopes that her feelings for him would cool off enough for her to gain the strength she needed to face his true self. Fen'Harel had wanted her to confront him, but Fen'Harel had been weakened by the red lyrium, and she did not know if Solas would remain his calm, cool and collected self once he knew that _she_ knew.  
She had stopped visiting his cabin every evening, and if he had worried or suspected or had even missed her company – something she pathetically hoped he had – he had not sought her out.

 _This is the right thing to do,_ she had thought one evening while she had flipped through the pages of her journal, reading the words with different eyes now that she knew that they were the words of the greatest traitor of her people. _It's nothing more than a girlish crush and I will move on from it,_ she had told herself when she avoided the area where his cabin was altogether, even though she knew that she would be forced to go there once she ran out of potions and needed to order more from Adan.

She had never been very good with lying to herself.

Every day she had told herself that he did not care, that he was using her, that he was a traitor, a liar, a deceiver and that she should harden her heart and treat him as such. But then a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, reminding her that in another world, a year from now, he had called her _vhenan_ , had kissed her with a desperate passion that spoke of his feelings for her. Perhaps the stories of him were something the Dalish had gotten wrong as well, the pathetic voice said. Perhaps they were wrong. _No_. She dismissed his affectionate words and the kiss as another part of his tricks, a ploy to make her truly listen to his warning. _But why would he ruin his own plans?_

 __Her mind went around in circles while she had several endless internal arguments with herself, and when she walked down the steps to the main gates of Haven she felt her head spin, and she had to stop moving. Seeking the stability of one of the walls, she pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes while she tried to think of something else. _Anything_ would be better than the confusing mess that currently occupied her mind.

"Are you not feeling well, Alyn?"

It was the first time she had heard his calm baritone voice in days and she snapped her eyes open, saw him standing in front of her, and quickly realised that avoiding him had done nothing to cool her feelings for him. He was not even attempting to conceal the worry in his eyes as he looked her over and she found herself truly wanting to believe that it was real.

 _He is the Dread Wolf, it is nothing but lies!_

She quickly dropped her hand from her forehead and forced herself to smile before she answered.

"I'm feeling great. Let's go."

Cassandra had also approached them now, and she looked just as worried as Solas did, her brows furrowed slightly. Alyn groaned inwardly. This was not what she needed right now.

"You do look a little pale, Herald. Perhaps it would be wise to postpone our journey and let you get some rest."

"I am fine," Alyn replied through gritted teeth before she attempted to escape from their worried looks.

Solas placed a hand on her shoulder, the first time he had touched her since her journey to the future, and she felt herself tense up, felt her heart pound wildly while she tried to keep her breathing calm.

"Do not overexert yourself, Alyn," he murmured gently, the words meant for her ears alone. "No one will fault you for needing to rest."

 _Fen'Harel who betrayed the gods, who hates the People, who tricks and deceives._

"Creators have mercy, I am fine!" She snapped so loudly it caused a few of the soldiers and refugees standing by the gates to turn and look at them. Without looking up at Solas, she shrugged his hand off her shoulder before she almost ran to Dorian who was waiting for them on the other side of the open gates. "Let's go."

* * *

She could feel Solas' eyes on her back during their journey to the Hinterlands and hid her bouts of dizziness by using her staff as a walking stick, masked her fatigue and anxiety by laughing and chatting to Dorian. The fellow mage was still new to their group, still did not know her well enough to know that something was wrong. Right now she welcomed that, and the distraction he provided with his stories of his life in the Tevinter Imperium.

After stopping to pick up status reports in the Crossroads they moved on, and while they walked through Witchwood, heading in the direction of the farmlands where Horse Master Dennet lived, they ran into trouble. A small group of bandits ambushed them and she could immediately feel Solas' barrier enveloping her protectively while she opened herself up to the Fade.

Where her magic had previously been a fierce and fluid motion – the Fade answering her call as tiny wisps flocked to her, like moths flock to a beacon, before manifesting into a spell – it was now jagged and halting. It felt like she was ripping the Fade slowly, piece by piece like fragile parchment, before she stitched it together in a spell that did not feel quite right. The shock of lightning she sent at the bandits did little damage to them, and Alyn wanted to laugh in frustration. _Of course_ her fatigue had begun to affect her magic, why was she even surprised?

If that wasn't bad enough, she knew that Solas would have noticed the change as well. They had fought side by side long enough to be able to tell what their magic felt like, and he would no doubt have felt the difference from the moment she had opened herself up to the Fade. The Dread Wolf hid in her inner circle, and now he knew that she was weak.  
She refused to let the others see how shaken her weakened abilities had made her and kept on fighting and casting spells as if nothing had changed. Soon enough their enemies lay dead on the ground and she popped open a lyrium bottle, drinking from it greedily to try to regain what little of her strength that remained. The battle had drained her, but she refused to let her weakness show when she could feel Solas' eyes on her back.

Dorian came to her rescue, even if he was not aware of it. Discounting their trip to the future, it was the first time the Tevinter mage had fought alongside Solas, and he immediately began to ask questions about the elven mage's staff technique.

"That little flare you sometimes do with your staff... You're redirecting ambient energy to your personal aura?"

"Yes," she heard Solas reply, and finally, _thank the Creators_ , she felt his eyes leave her. "The effect clears magical energy and creates a minor randomized barrier to impair incoming magic."

Cassandra had settled in next to her after having cleaned off her sword, and Alyn gave the Seeker a half-hearted smile as she watched the warrior cross her arms over her chest while listening to the men's conversation. She knew that Cassandra had been wary of the Tevinter mage from the start and Alyn half expected her to make a disgusted noise at their discussion. She most likely prevented herself because Alyn had allowed him to join the Inquisition, having made it clear to everyone that it was Dorian's knowledge that had made it possible for them to return from that dark future in Redcliffe.

"Fascinating. It's a Tevinter technique. I've never seen anyone in this part of the world do it." The enthusiasm in Dorian's voice over having discovered someone from outside his homeland using the technique was obvious, though Alyn thought she detected a bit of homesickness in it as well.

"The technique is not Tevinter. It is elven." Solas' response was cool and accusing - like a whip cracking in the air - as if Dorian had personally been responsible for the fall of Arlathan, and something in her snapped.

Crossing her arms, she spun around so quickly that both men looked at her. She met the gaze of a slightly embarrassed looking Dorian before she looked at Solas for the first time since they had left Haven.

"How do you know?"

His eyes widened slightly at the biting tone in her voice but he showed no other signs that might indicate that her question had caught him off-guard.

"I have seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade."

 _Of course you have._

"You saw ancient elven staff techniques in the Fade?" she asked slowly, sceptically, her eyes never leaving his.

A small crease formed on his forehead, a minor sign of annoyance, and she ignored the screaming voices at the back of her mind. _You're arguing with the Dread Wolf! Are you insane?_  
After four days of being unable to sleep, of questioning everything he did, of being pushed and pulled between hundreds of different thoughts and emotions, each one more painful, confusing and angry as the next, she would not be surprised if she finally did lose her sanity.

"There is a trove of knowledge in the ancient memories for those who know how to look for it."

"But how do you know that the memories were from Elvhenan? They could be memories from the Dales. The Dalish elves could have brought the technique with them from the Imperium. How would you know the difference?" _Unless you were_ actually _there to know the difference_ , followed silently as she kept pushing against him while she ignored the nausea and the anxiety, the dizziness and the fatigue, the pain in her heart and the anger in her mind; hiding it behind layers of masks on her face.

The tension between them could be cut through with a knife, something that had most likely not gone unnoticed by their human companions, and then Solas smiled. His features etched into the usual expression he wore when she prodded him with questions, before he leaned forward slightly, his hands clasped around his staff.

"Those are excellent questions. However, if your theory is correct, it is a shame that it is another piece of knowledge lost by your people. I do not see you using the technique after all."

 _Fenedhis lasa._ She gritted her teeth to stop herself from saying something she would regret and instead turned and walked away without a word.

Still seething when they crossed the broken bridge to reach the farmlands half an hour later, her inner turmoil had reached a near boiling point, and when a bear attacked them she let out her frustrations the only way she could think of. Slamming her staff into the ground in the final moments of the fight, she flung a fireball at the bear.

"May the Dread Wolf take you!" she shouted heatedly as the fire caught its fur and caused enough damage to kill it.

She did not look at Solas but could feel his magic falter slightly at her words, and when they moved on she had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing.

 _Smooth, Alyn. Very smooth._

* * *

They returned to Haven at dusk, the small village nearly filled to the brim with all the newly arrived mages, and after a long meeting with Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine and Leliana, it was decided that they would perform their second attempt at closing the Breach the following day. She skipped dinner in the tavern entirely after she left the Chantry, and instead she pushed through the crowds, ignoring the whispers of _"That's the Herald of Andraste"_ while she sought the safety of her cabin. She needed rest, needed to clear her head, needed _sleep_ , but she knew that none would come to her and that she would most likely spend another sleepless night twisting and turning while her thoughts ate away at her.

She had barely closed the door behind her when someone knocked on it, and she opened it with a weary sigh, freezing slightly when she saw Solas. He had already changed out of his gear and wore his usual cream coloured tunic and moss green leggings, hands clasped behind his back while he looked at her.

 _Fen'Harel, not Solas. Fen'Harel, who betrayed the gods, who hates the People, who is said to feast on the souls of the dead._

"May I come in?" he asked, his voice barely heard over the crowd of people behind him.

She knew that she should say no, knew that she should distance herself from him, but she was too exhausted to argue with herself, too tired to decide between what she wanted and what she should do. _Mythal protect me,_ she thought quietly before she stepped aside and opened the door further to let him in.

 _Fen'Harel, the Bringer of Nightmares, Lord of Tricksters. Fen'Harel the traitor, the monster. Fen'Harel the Dread Wolf._

She closed the door behind him, drowning out the noise from the outside, and he stopped in front of the fireplace, a contemplative look on his face while he stared into the flames. For a long while there was nothing but silence between them, and it was not until she had moved away from the door and was slowly walking towards him that he spoke.

"I understand how difficult it can be when so many lives rely on you," he said distantly, seemingly lost in his own memories. "And how it is far too easy to put the wellbeing of others above your own."

He broke out of his reverie and his gaze snapped away from the flames, moved to look at her, and the unreadable intensity in his steel blue eyes nearly made her flinch.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, repeating the same question she had asked him a year into the future.

"Because I am worried about you," he replied quietly, the intensity in his gaze softening as genuine worry poured through.

 _Fen'Harel, who kissed her, who called her vhenan, who sacrificed himself so that she and Dorian could return to the past._

He held out his hand, revealing a small glass bottle filled with a dark blue liquid resting in his palm and she hesitantly took it from him before she held it up in front of her eyes.

"I had Adan make it after we returned. It will help you sleep." His words made her stare at him and she saw a small, comforting smile on his lips. "I have suffered through enough periods of insomnia to recognize the symptoms in someone else. Do not let the troubles of this world overwhelm you, Alyn."

He moved towards the door to her cabin, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze on the way, and she returned her gaze to the bottle while her mind raced.

 _Solas, whose eyes lit up whenever he spoke of the Fade. Solas, who provided comforting words to a widow when they had returned her dead husband's stolen wedding ring. Solas, who had helped convince an elven healer to help out the refugees in the Crossroads. Solas, who had expressed his respect and admiration of Cassandra and her strength, her faith and her willingness to do what needed to be done. Solas, who valued freedom of thought above all. Solas, who out of them all, had been the most adamant about closing the Breach, stating over and over again that they were doomed as long as it remained open. Solas, not Fen'Harel._

 _Just pretend_ , she thought, closing her eyes briefly. _Just pretend for one evening._

"Solas." Her voice was shaking, and she cleared her throat before she turned around to look at him. "Do you have any more stories to share about our ancestors?"

She sat down on the floor in front of the fire, patted the empty space next to her and he gave her another smile before he slowly walked over and sat down.

"Is there a topic in particular that would interest you?"

"Surprise me," she replied, feeling a smile coming easy to her lips when she heard him chuckle. _Solas, not the Dread Wolf._

There was a long moment of silence between them while he seemed to contemplate what to tell her, the snapping of the firewood the only sound filling the room, and then he began to speak. It took her a few seconds of struggling to understand it before she realised that he was speaking in elvish. The language rolled off his tongue in soft and fluid motions, beautiful even when she struggled to pick out any words that she might understand. Then she recalled him telling Sera once that even though an elf did not understand their ancient tongue, it was said that they would still feel the rhythm and emotion in the language and the words spoken. The elven archer had mocked him for it, but now Alyn found herself closing her eyes before she focused on his voice, relaxing as she listened to his words without trying to translate them.

She could feel the emotions in the story, and she imagined each of them as a different coloured strip of fabric that were weaved together as the tale unravelled. Hopelessness, pain and sorrow weaved in with hope, joy and love; confidence and inspiration weaved in with loss and determination. Finally there was betrayal, an unending pool of sorrow and pain, of emptiness and loneliness, but beneath all of it she could still feel hope, unfaltering and unwavering.  
When the room once again turned silent, she kept her eyes closed for a few moments longer, still lingering on the emotions she had felt.

"What was the story about?" she whispered, afraid of scaring away the remaining traces of it if she spoke any louder.

"Fen'Harel's rebellion," he replied after another moment of silence, and the strange thickness in his voice made her open her eyes.

He was staring into the fire, once again seemingly lost in his own memories, but there was no mistaking the raw pain and sorrow in his eyes. She closed her eyes again, focusing on the emotions while she wondered who he had rebelled against, and then she made her decision.

 _Tomorrow,_ she thought as they remained seated in silence. _I will confront him tomorrow after we have closed the Breach._


	3. Revelations

**Chapter 3: Revelations**

They closed the Breach at sundown. With the help of the rebel mages the Inquisition had succeeded and everyone in Haven seemed to have taken a collective sigh of relief and exhaled a breath that they had been holding from the moment the Breach had appeared in the sky. When Alyn returned to the village, Cassandra, Solas, and a dozen Senior Enchanters in tow, the celebrations were already underway. Cassandra requested Solas' assistance to confirm that the Breach _had_ actually been fully closed, and Alyn watched in dismay while he followed the Seeker up to the Chantry. She had wanted to confront him as soon as possible, but now she would need to wait as he would need to enter the Fade to make sure that the Veil was properly healed. Looking after them as they disappeared into the crowds, she decided to steer away from the celebrations and go wait in the Chantry as well.

The Iron Bull caught her on the way, literally. He hefted her up to sit on his shoulder, ignoring the surprised yelp coming from her, and from her new position she could see Varric laughing at the display.

"Where are you going, Boss? We're celebrating!" The qunari mercenary leader said before he began to walk, and Alyn had to grip on to one of his horns to stop herself from falling off his shoulder after her staff had fallen to the ground and she had attempted to catch it.

She was now very grateful that Solas had given her the sleeping potion the previous evening since she would most likely have been overcome by dizziness and nausea from this altitude otherwise. The potion had let her fall into a nice, dreamless sleep, and she had not woken up until late in the afternoon, having overslept by several hours since they were supposed to have left to close the Breach by noon. She suspected that Solas had informed the advisors and Cassandra to let her sleep in, and though she was still not sure of anything when it came to him, and her anxiety over it all still lingered, she was grateful for the gesture.

"Let me down, Bull. I have things I need to do!" she protested while she looked back at her fallen weapon, yet she felt unable to keep herself from smiling at the absurdity of the situation, and, ignoring her protest, Bull kept on walking in the direction of the tavern.

"You need to work more on that 'too serious for your own good' – attitude, Sleepy!" Varric yelled up at her before he ran to pick up her staff.

"And _you_ need to work on your nicknames, Varric!" she retorted while she grinned down at the dwarf, watching him move to walk behind Bull as they pushed through the crowds.

"Aw you wound me, Alyn," he laughed.

They passed mages, templars, soldiers, scouts and civilians, all of them cheering at the sight of her and most of them already drunk as it seemed that they had started the celebrations as soon as they had seen the Breach disappear from the sky. Alyn had to admit that the joyous mood was contagious, and knew that it was only natural to want to forget about the months of fear, death and conflict, if only for one evening. Still, she looked in the direction of the Chantry, knowing that she would seek Solas out before the evening was over, and she was uncertain of what the next day would bring. Would he panic and lash out at having been caught, or would he come up with more excuses, more lies? She could not help but feel more than a little nervous at the confrontation that waited, but she had made up her mind, and knew that she would be unable to play along with his lies any longer without driving herself insane in the process. While she waited for Solas to be done however, she would try to relax and enjoy the moment where nothing mattered but the celebration of their victory.

Bull finally let her down once they reached the overcrowded tavern and he whistled loudly to get the crowd's attention.

"The saviour of the day!" he shouted and the cheers and whistles coming from inside were almost ear deafening.

The crowds parted as they walked in, a table was cleared for her and her companions, and she sat down. Two other seats were quickly taken by Varric and Dorian, the dwarf leaning her staff against her chair before sitting down, and Bull went off to the bar, his form towering over the other patrons. She could hear Sera laughing somewhere, but the elf was nowhere to be seen in the crowds, and she saw Blackwall sat in a corner, engaged in a loud and cheerful discussion with two Inquisition scouts. Bull returned a few moments later, making her jump in surprise when he slammed a tankard filled with _something_ down in front of her.

"Maraas-Lok!" he shouted excitedly.

She stared down at the dark liquid sceptically before she looked up at the grey skinned, horned giant.

"What exactly am I drinking?"

"Less questioning, more drinking," was his reply, and she sniffed the liquid, felt her nose scrunch up at the strong, bitter smell before she pinched it, raised the tankard and took a sip.

It burned in her throat, and she could feel her face contort when the bitterness of it settled on her tongue, much to her companions' amusement.

"What _is_ this?" she managed to choke out before she returned to stare at the vile liquid in disgust, but the qunari had already left them to join his Chargers.

"I suspect it's something he smuggled in all the way from Par Vollen," Dorian replied airily while he took a sip from his glass of wine before placing it down on the table. "I hear the stuff they drink up there can make ones innards burn."

At his answer she slowly pushed the tankard away from her and Varric laughed.

"Don't scare her, Sparkles. I'm sure that whatever Tiny brought in from Par Vollen is safe to drink for us hornless people," he said before he managed to get the attention of one of the serving girls and ordered them more drinks.

"Safe perhaps, but not pleasant," she choked out before she stole Dorian's glass of wine and gulped down the liquid in an attempt to get the bitter taste out of her mouth. The Tevinter pretended to look offended at her theft and she gave him an innocent smile in return.

"Don't pout. I'm the Herald of Andraste and you should be honoured that I'm stealing your wine."

"You hate being called the Herald of Andraste, Freckles," Varric pointed out.

"True, but bribe me with enough drinks and I may reconsider my stance," she replied while she stared into the empty wineglass before she pointed it at the dwarf, "and I do not have nearly enough freckles on my face to earn that nickname, Varric."

"Your nickname is a work in progress. It was much easier coming up with one for Daisy."

"Daisy?"

"Daisy is Merrill. A Dalish mage who moved to Kirkwall's alienage before she and Hawke started dating," Varric explained as the serving girl returned with wine for Alyn and Dorian, and a tankard of cider for himself. He took a long sip from it before he continued. "She's a very sweet girl. Liked to frolic in Noble families' private gardens, use chandeliers as swings, played with spirits. Didn't really seem fazed by a lot of the weird shit that happened around us. 'Oh look, it's a rabid mabari trying to eat us, can we keep it Hawke? Oh look, it's a giant Pride demon chasing us, how exciting! Oh look, it's a weird ass talking darkspawn claiming to be an ancient Tevinter Magister, how fascinating!' Ah, I love that girl."

Dorian almost spat out his wine before he stared at Varric.

"Hold on, you met a talking darkspawn claiming to be an ancient Magister?" he asked in disbelief and Alyn found herself leaning forward with interest, drinking from her wine while she waited to hear Varric's answer.

"Well, he wasn't really making much sense when we met him," he replied before he leaned back in his seat, his face breaking into the storyteller expression he always wore when he was reciting his tales to people. "He'd been locked in a Grey Warden prison in the Vimmark Mountains since after the First Blight. Hawke's father had been forced to do a blood magic ritual to strengthen the bindings of the prison a few decades ago, so Hawke's blood was the key to releasing those bindings. Apparently this darkspawn could mess with the minds of Grey Wardens because of their shared taint and he had managed to convince this crazy Warden lady and her equally crazy Warden friends that releasing him was the best idea ever. When Hawke was attacked in his home around six years ago, the leads I'd received from my contacts led to the prison. It turned out that once you entered, you couldn't exit so we were trapped. Anyway, long story short, after running around for a few hours we met a Warden named Larius who had also ended up trapped when he'd gone on his Calling. He told us that we needed to kill the Magister to be able to leave the prison, so that's what we did."

"And he was an ancient Tevinter Magister?" she asked, repeating Dorian's question with more fascination than scepticism.

"Like I said, he claimed to be. He looked like one of those darkspawn that can use magic, but he wasn't making much sense. There was a lot of confusion, a lot of 'Dumat! Dumat! Where are you Dumat?' followed by 'I am Corypheus, feel my wrath puny beings!' We killed him and went home. Being around Hawke was anything but dull; I'll have to give him that."

Alyn choked on her wine and had to cough for a full minute to clear the itchiness in her throat before she stared at the dwarf as cold panic rushed up her spine.

"His name was Corypheus?" she asked in a slightly strangled voice before she emptied her glass to clear her throat further.

"That's what he said," Varric replied with a smile.

"It was probably a title and not his name," Dorian pointed out. "Corypheus means Conductor in Tevene, although I've never heard of that title ever being used in my homeland. Come to think of it, I've never heard of any talking darkspawn either. Especially not one who claimed to be an ancient Magister," he added before his expression turned distant as he seemed to have disappeared into his own thoughts.

Alyn felt her mind racing. She had finally found the answer to who this Corypheus might be but it only brought up more questions. If this darkspawn Magister had been dead for over half a decade, then why had Fen'Harel mentioned him in the future?

"You're certain that he's dead?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Varric gave her an odd look and she smiled at him, masking the panic that was steadily rising within her.

"Oh he's dead, there's no doubt about that. After we were done with him there was nothing left but a sword and dagger wound riddled, magic burnt, pin-cushioned mess. I think Broody even Lyrium fisted his chest a few times for good measure. Corypheus was a tough son of a bitch to kill though. Bianca made me very proud that day."

 _It doesn't make any sense_ , she thought. Had Fen'Harel known that Corypheus was dead when he had mentioned him? If he did not then when had he met him? As far as Varric knew this supposed ancient darkspawn Magister had been imprisoned since the First Blight. Of course, she had no idea how long Solas' current plan had been in the making. He was immortal after all, so for all she knew he could have met Corypheus in ancient times. Perhaps before Corypheus became a darkspawn. Or maybe this was not the same Corypheus that Fen'Harel had mentioned at all, although something in her doubted that.

"You alright there, Alyn? You're beginning to look a little pale."

She broke out of her thoughts and met Varric's gaze.

"Peachy," she replied and gave him a smile she hoped looked reassuring, since the dwarf did not seem convinced at all by her reply. "I need to go take care of something quickly."

She grabbed her staff, was up on her feet and pushed through the crowds before her companions could protest and once she was outside and felt the cold air burn in her lungs she broke out into a run towards the Chantry. She needed answers, and she needed them now.

As she rounded the corner of the cabin that lay opposite to Solas' she nearly crashed into him. She felt herself slip when she tried to avoid the crash and braced herself for the fall. His hands wrapped around her waist to break the fall, and he helped her steady herself on her feet while he looked at her in surprise and confusion before he saw the slight panic in her face.

"Is something wrong? What has happened?" he asked, concern in his voice as his eyes searched hers for answers.

 _Do not falter_ , she thought before she removed his hands that had lingered around her waist and grabbed his arm.

"We need to talk, _now_ ," she said, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible, before she all but dragged him to his cabin.

She opened the door and released his arm, waited for him to enter before she closed the door and placed herself in front of it. _Do not falter_ , she repeated to herself while she pushed down the panic and the anxiety. _Do not let your feelings for Solas cloud you. This is the Dread Wolf, not Solas._ Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to use her Keeper face before she met his gaze. He was still wearing his travel gear, but he had quickly removed his backpack from his shoulders, placed his staff against a wall, and worry shone in his eyes as he looked at her. She wondered if it was worry for her or for himself. Surely he must know that she knew. Surely he was suspecting something.

"Who is Corypheus?" she asked quietly, now feeling strangely calm when she once again saw the quick tension in his jaw at the mention of the name.

His eyes darkened slightly while he stared at her, still trying to read her, and she never let her gaze break away from him.

"I believe I have already answered that question," he replied.

"And I am asking you again," she grit out.

He had one more chance to tell her, one more chance to be honest with her. _Why? What are you expecting? That his feelings for you are real and that he will trust you enough to reveal everything? Foolish, foolish girl._ He crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head slightly while he looked at her.

"Well, as I mentioned before I have never heard of that-"

"Stop lying to me!" she shouted so loudly that it seemed to shock them both. _So much for staying calm._ She could feel the cracks appear in her mask and she began to pace slightly. "I am sick of the lies and the doubts. I trusted you, I-" She stopped herself when her voice cracked and took a deep breath.

 _What happened to your strength? What happened to being able to keep your emotions in check?_ She had used to be so good at hiding her true emotions, of remaining calm and collected even when her feelings were in turmoil. Her Keeper had complimented her on the ability, stating that it would be a great asset for her when she took over the role as Keeper herself. Now none of it remained and all of it was because she had fallen in love with the one man she _shouldn't_ have fallen in love with. They had not even done anything in this time, had not even confessed any feelings beyond friendship, and yet here she was, letting her emotions get the best of her. _Pathetic_. She glared at Solas and pointed a finger at him.

"You know who Corypheus is, _Dread Wolf_ ," she said, spitting out his name, and for the first time since she had met him she saw shock clearly on his face. "You will sit down, you will tell me who he is, you will tell me how you know him, and then you will tell me what the orb is and what you're planning to do with it!"

He remained standing, but it seemed as if whatever masks he had worn had fallen away completely, and now she saw nothing but pain, shame and regret.

"How did you find out?" he asked quietly.

" _You_ told me in Redcliffe! Congratulations, Fen'Harel, your betrayals finally reached a full circle. You betrayed yourself."

He flinched at her words, as if she had slapped him, and she had to stop herself from being affected by the wounded look in his eyes. She could not, would not, let herself care. Tears burned in her eyes and she ignored them while she kept her gaze steady on him. The silence between them seemed to stretch on for minutes, before he finally took a deep breath and spoke.

"It was not supposed to happen like this."

"Who is Corypheus?" she repeated.

He sighed in resignation.

"He is the leader of the Venatori, the one calling himself the Elder One."

That meant that it could not be the ancient Magister that Varric had mentioned, since the Elder One was still alive as far as she knew. She supposed that it was a small comfort, although at the moment she was grasping at anything that sounded comforting.

"How do you know him?" she asked numbly, afraid of what his answer would be.

There was another brief pause between them as it seemed as if he was having some internal arguments with himself.

 _Now you know how I've felt all week_.

"I gave him the artefact used to open the Breach," he finally replied and his voice, filled with pain and regret, was barely more than a whisper.

It felt like someone had stabbed a knife in her chest and a strangled noise of pain escaped her lips. She backed into the door, unable to contain the look of disgust and anger in her face when she stared at him.

"It was not supposed to happen like this," he repeated.

"Well, tell me then, _Fen'Harel_ , how was it supposed to happen? Why were you so insistent that we close the Breach if you were working with him?"

"I am not working with him."

"Then _why_ did you give him the means to open it?" she snapped before she turned away from him.

Tears were now rolling down her cheeks and she was trembling, though whether it was from the anger or from the pain in the chest, she could not say. She pressed her forehead against the door and closed her eyes while she tried to contain the sobs escaping her lips. This was not the man she had gotten to know, this was not the man she had found herself falling in love with. Solas truly was a lie, and her people's stories of the Dread Wolf, the Great Betrayer, were not.

"Alyn, I-"

"Shut up," she interrupted him when the memory of their first meeting suddenly flashed before her eyes.

 _"Whatever magic that opened the Breach in the sky, also placed that mark upon your hand,"_ he had said, and she opened her eyes, looked at the mark in question before she grew cold.

 _No, no, no, no._

Bells suddenly rang in the distance, interrupting her train of thoughts and she frowned in confusion before she wiped her tears away and opened the door. The celebrations had taken an abrupt stop; there was no music coming from the camp fires, no laughter or cheering. Instead she heard the bells continuously ringing, along with shouts of commands and panicked screams, and over that she heard the sound of marching forces echoing in the mountains.

"What's happening?" she asked a soldier who was running past her.

"We are under attack!" he shouted in reply before he continued on running.

She did not even bother looking back at the Dread Wolf before she left his cabin and started running towards the main gates.


	4. Mistakes

**Elvish:**

 **Atisha - Peace**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Mistakes**

He should not be here. The makeshift camp deep in the Frostback Mountains was nearly filled to the brim with survivors from the Elder One's attack on Haven, many of them badly injured or chilled to the bone from the snowstorm that had plagued the mountains for hours. Most of them would not make it through the night and Solas did what he could for them while he kept casting glances to where Cullen, Leliana and Josephine stood on the other side of the camp, gauging their reactions to see if any news had arrived, while regrets upon regrets piled up in his thoughts.

He should have remained back at Haven with Alyn, should have helped her distract the Elder One and his Red Templar army to give Haven's survivors time to escape. He should have returned to the village as soon as he had noticed that she was not with the rest of the survivors, should have turned around when Cullen had informed him of her plans, but by then it had been far too late. Now Haven's ruins lay buried beneath a mountain of snow and there were no signs of Alyn or the others who had remained at her side. He should have been there, even if she would have pushed him away.

His mind went over their last conversation for what felt like the hundredth time in the few short hours that had passed since it had taken place, and once again he admonished himself for not noticing the signs. They had been there in front of him, plain as day; the abrupt end to her nightly visits to his cabin after their return from Redcliffe, her insomnia, her uncharacteristically near-hostile behaviour towards him, the mentioning of Corypheus. He should have seen it coming, but instead he had been blinded by his worry for her, had assumed that stress had been the cause of her insomnia, which in turn had been the cause for her behaviour. Her lie about finding Corypheus' name in a journal in the future had made perfect sense to him at the time; the Elder One had commanded that future after all. Now he knew that _he_ had been the cause of her stress and insomnia.

Hearing his real name on her lips had been a shock, yet what had shocked him even further was hearing that it had been his future self who had decided to reveal his true identity to her. That revelation still gave him pause. What had changed him a year from now in a dark future that would make him risk everything he had planned? Why had he decided to involve Alyn in all of it when he had heard the misguided stories of his actions that her people claimed were true historical accounts? Alyn had been eager to learn and listen to the knowledge he had to share, yet he had not been at all surprised to see that even a Dalish as open minded as her had fallen back to her old prejudice when she had learned of his true identity, and revealing himself to her had been a mistake. Not knowing the reasons for why his future self had taken such a risk only added to his current frustrations and worries and he shook his head in exasperation while he kept admonishing both his present and his future self. He popped back a soldier's dislocated shoulder, ignoring her screams as he once again looked in the direction of the advisors, and then time itself seemed to still completely.

Cassandra, Varric and Dorian had returned and all of them looked bloody, frozen and exhausted as they marched over to where the advisors stood. Solas could see no sign of Alyn and a small knot formed in his stomach as he stared at their newly arrived companions. He saw Cassandra's lips move, speaking words that he could not hear, but the worried scowl on her face already spoke volumes. Varric, who never seemed to have a difficult time smiling and joking, was now withdrawn and resigned; his shoulders sunken while he looked away from the others, as if he did not want to listen to the Seeker's words. Dorian was looking more serious than Solas had ever seen him in the short time since the Tevinter mage had joined the Inquisition, and after having listened to Cassandra for a few seconds, he stormed off. Solas remained completely still when he saw Cullen's shoulders sink at Cassandra's words, saw the raw expression of sorrow on Josephine's face and the barely hidden anger in Leliana's features. The news did not have to reach his ears for him to know what had happened. Alyn Lavellan was dead.

He snapped his gaze away from them, instead refocusing his attention on the soldier he was treating while the knot in his stomach grew. Alyn had been a symbol of hope to these people, having risen up as their saviour when they had needed one the most; it was only natural that Solas felt a sense of sorrow over her death. It was what he kept telling himself when he moved to treat the next injured soldier, and the next, and the next, until his hands began to tremble, his chest hurt and his throat tightened. Eventually the camp felt far too small for him and he stood up on shaky legs and fled to the only place where he could be himself. He found an unoccupied tent and entered it, ignored the chill in the ground while he lay down on the snow, and shut his eyes. He found it difficult to focus on his breathing while trying to shut out the sounds outside, but eventually he felt himself fall asleep.

He was still trembling when he crossed over the Veil and he shook his head. He had not thought that Alyn's death would affect him so strongly and he blinked a couple of times to try to wash away the remains of the waking world from his dreaming form. Once he had managed to calm down enough and looked around, he was surprised to find Wisdom standing in front of him, her calm eyes having observed him ever since he had entered the Fade.

"You should not be here, lethallin," he warned his oldest friend.

The Breach had been closed, but small Rifts were still scattered about and he did not want to lose Wisdom to one of them.

"Corypheus tried to take the anchor from her," Wisdom informed him calmly as she ignored his warning, her voice echoing in the Fade around them. "He did not succeed. The Magister did not realise that your mark was permanently tied to her."

Wisdom's words made him sit down. He had known that his mark had been tied to Alyn from the moment he had sat beside her dying form in Haven months earlier, pushing the magic back into the mark to keep it from expanding while he had studied it. Even though he had never been certain, he had feared that the mark had tied her to him on a subconscious level; had feared that he would be able to control her through it, just like Mythal controlled the servants who drank from her well. He did not want to have that kind of power over someone and knew that he should have stayed away from her, and that he should not have allowed himself to grow close to her. He could only hope that she finally found peace in the Beyond. He never should have let that blighted madman take his orb.

"Did he kill her?" he whispered.

"No."

It was a small comfort, but he held onto it, glad that she had at least been able to choose how she went down, even if her death had been his fault. Another one lost due to his mistakes. His head snapped up when he suddenly heard a calling across the Fade, and he rose to his feet while he stared at the direction it was coming from.

"She found out who you are, Fen'Harel," Wisdom stated in wonder while she looked at him.

"She found out what I did."

"What was her reaction?"

"Anger, disgust, pain," he replied hollowly as he recalled their final conversation, remembering the immense pain in Alyn's eyes and the way she had spat out his name like a curse. "It matters little now."

He ignored the inner turmoil he felt while he used his will to conjure a staff before manifesting the Fade around them to look like the snowy mountains he had left behind in the waking world. He began to walk past empty tents and snowy footpaths.

"She is important to you," Wisdom murmured, her steps falling in with his as she walked next to him.

He shook his head.

"She was Dalish. More likely than not she saw me as nothing more than a monster. Whatever my feelings for her were, it changes nothing."

"Is that what you believe, or what you want to believe?" Wisdom asked.

He ignored the question, ignored the memories of Alyn as he kept on walking, following the call of the ruins that were once his. They wandered north, over the mountains, crossing paths and climbing over mountain tops that would not be possible to climb in the waking world. The Fade allowed them to move in a much faster pace as well; time did not exist here and the weight of the waking world was only an insignificant shadow in this place of dreams.

The call of Tarasy'lan Te'las grew stronger and even in his crafted illusion he could see ripples in the Fade emitting from the ground while it slowly merged with the skies, turning them darker. The Fade knew that this was where the Veil had been created and its age poured through memories and illusions alike. In another world this had been where the rebellion had truly begun, where he had rallied the People to fight back against the madness that had plagued Elvhenan and against their kin that had been corrupted by it; the fight for a new world where the People were free from the shackles of slavery, and where everyone was free to choose their own path. Thousands of years later he had awoken to see that the world he had changed had ended up being worse than the one he had left behind.

He still remembered the day of his awakening clearly; still recalled the feeling of drowning when air had entered his lungs and the weight of the real world had pressed down upon his weakened body. He had panicked, had collapsed as soon as he had taken those first unsteady steps deep in the ruins that had once been his home. It had taken him weeks just to get used to daylight again, another few weeks to get used to the fact that he could not shape the world around him by using his will.

Magic was no longer as natural as breathing; spirits were seen as no different from demons and were just as feared. Worst of all, his people were outcasts, slaves, servants. Seeing his once proud kin subjugated under human rule, being treated no different than animals - in some cases being treated worse than animals - had made him so distraught that he had considered returning to uthenera. This world was not his world; the people calling themselves elves were not _his_ people. Then, years after he had awoken, he had met Mythal and things had changed. He had returned to the ruins he had awoken in, had found his orb and had gained the hope that he could fix the mistakes he had made so long ago, if he could find a way to unlock the orb. He had still been too weak to do it himself, and had refused to resort to blood magic. The Fade and his friends there had been all that he had left in this foreign world, and had not wanted to risk his connection to it.

Corypheus had received his attention when he had entered the ruins of Solas' home weeks later, searching for valuable artefacts. Once Solas had discovered who and what he was, his plan had been set. It had been easy to follow the ancient Magister unnoticed, easier still to place the orb in a location where it would not look out of place. He had expected the power of unlocking the orb to kill the Magister; no mortal had ever been able to handle that kind of magical power and lived. By the time he had realised the gravity of his mistake, it had been far too late.

His orb was still out there, in the hands of a blight corrupted madman seeking to become a god, and the only living mortal in this world that he had felt himself grow close to was dead. Would Alyn had understood his desperation if he had told her everything? Would she have understood his plans to restore what once was? He shook his head slightly at his own thoughts while he kept staring at the place where Tarasy'lan Te'las had been.

Beyond the Veil it was nothing more than ruins buried beneath more ruins; a foundation beneath foundations where a new fortress now stood. Its builders had named it Skyhold after its construction centuries ago, and though time had worn the fortress down slightly, it remained an impressive structure. He decided to mark the location on Cullen's map once he awoke. Skyhold could become a refuge for the remnants of the Inquisition, even if he would not be joining them. His path led to Corypheus, and he would do everything he could to get his orb back.

He frowned slightly when he thought he heard his false name echo above them and turned to look at Wisdom. The spirit had observed him with a smile on her lips, as if she knew something he did not, and worry gripped him when he reminded himself of how fragile she truly was in this conflict.

"You should not remain in this area, lethallin," he repeated. "Corypheus still has the orb and I would not want to lose you to whatever he may have planned."

The voice calling his name was growing louder and louder, nearly drowning out the call of Tarasy'lan Te'las and once again he looked up in confusion as he tried to make out the voice.

"Atisha, you worry too much," Wisdom replied. "Do not let the weight of this world overwhelm you. Is that not what you told her? It would do you well to follow your own advice and allow yourself some happiness. She changes everything, Fen'Harel."

He turned to look at her in surprise but she had already disappeared, leaving nothing in her wake but traces of her being. Confusion gripped him at Wisdom's words while he remained where he was, listening to his name being called. Soon it became too loud to ignore and the Fade, along with his created illusions, crashed down upon him until he saw nothing but the roof of the tent he had escaped to, and Cassandra hunched over him. He blinked at her dazedly while traces of sleep slowly left his eyes, and even though the Seeker seemed relieved that he had finally awoken, the tension in her face was unmistakable.

"We've found the Herald," she said and he immediately felt his heart freeze. "She needs your help."


	5. Ma'eth

**Elvish:**

 **Ma'eth - You are safe**

 **Ma serannas - My thanks (thank you)**

 **Da'halla - Little halla**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Ma'eth**

Heavy summer rain had fallen during the night, and now a light fog dimmed the forest they were in. The rain seemed to have awakened the nature around them and smells of wet bark, grass and earth filled Alyn's nostrils as she ran; the muddy forest ground making soft groaning sounds underneath her feet while she moved quickly past trees, rocks and bushes.

The clan had moved past a small clearing where white poppies grew, and Terath had brought her with him to help gather some of them while the rest of the clan kept moving. Well, _he_ had plucked most of the flowers they needed while Alyn had run around the clearing, singing one of the old songs Mamae had taught her the previous evening. It was a song of sorrow and happiness, of a lone hunter who had become a hero by rescuing a group of elves from the shackles of slavery before he had led them to rebel against their cruel masters. _A song from the Dales_ , Mamae had told her before she had hummed the tune in Alyn's ears, the melody following her when she had fallen asleep.

Terath had laughed and sung along with her before he had stopped her from running around, stuck some of the poppies in her braid and handed her a score of the rest.

"Give these to your mother for me, da'len," he had said before giving her a soft pat on the head and she had eagerly obeyed.

After having run for a while she finally saw the clan through the fog and skirted past the slow moving aravels and the herd of halla with ease; ignoring the surprised shouts and soft sighs coming from her kin when she pushed past them. She ran past Keeper Gendal, who sighed wearily at her, and finally saw her mother.

Mamae was scouting ahead of the rest of the clan, her bow in her hands and her sword sheathed at her back while she walked through the fog with swift but quiet steps. She had a serious look on her face, as she always did when she was hunting or scouting, listening to things far away, but as soon as Alyn called out to her she turned around and smiled. She hefted her bow over her shoulder and stopped walking while she waited for Alyn to reach her.

"Look at you, da'halla," Mamae said before her gloved fingers skirted over the flowers in Alyn's hair. "You look like a Dalish princess," she murmured and Alyn beamed up at her at the compliment. "Are those for me?"

Alyn nodded before she gave her mother the poppies. Most were still there, and if she did not say anything Mamae would not notice that some of the flowers had fallen down to the ground during her run. Terath would probably see the flowers in the mud on his way back to them, but Alyn knew that he would not say anything either.

"Ma serannas." Mamae took the handmade bouquet from Alyn's hands before she divided it and gave one half back to Alyn. She looked back to the clan and made a small motioning sign to the Keeper – who nodded in response - before she turned to Alyn and held out her free hand. "Come with me, da'halla."

Alyn accepted her hand and followed as they both broke away from the clan and walked further into the forests. She sang the song Mamae had taught her while they walked through the fog, and when she had finished singing it for the fifth time she realised that she could no longer hear the call of the halla or the rest of their clan behind her. The forest was eerily quiet, but Alyn was not afraid. Mamae had often gone away on these tasks when their clan migrated to new areas, but this was the first time Alyn had been allowed to come with her, and Alyn wanted to show Mamae that she was brave.

 _"She is only six. Are you sure it's wise to bring her with you, vhenan?"_ She had heard Terath ask her mother the previous evening when they had thought she was asleep.

 _"She is old enough to learn,"_ Mamae had replied, and Alyn had felt proud and excited at her words. The clan still called her da'len, but now she was finally old enough to start learning of the old ways, even if she was still too young to receive her vallaslin.

Mamae wore the vallaslin of Mythal on her face, emerald green lines branching out on her forehead and cheekbones, the same colour as her eyes, and Alyn thought the marks made her look even more beautiful. Terath carried the vallaslin of Elgar'nan. They were dark and scary on his face and Alyn did not think they suited him because he was always so kind. She had never told him that though, because she was afraid that it would make him sad. When she was old enough she knew that she wanted to receive Mythal's vallaslin, like her mother. Mamae had told her that Mythal was the goddess of justice, motherhood and protection and those were nice things.

"We're almost there now, Alyn," Mamae whispered before she squeezed her hand gently, and her words made Alyn look around excitedly while she tried to see where _there_ was.

They reached another small clearing, and through the fog she could see a statue. It looked like it was made of stone, and it was larger than any statue she had ever seen, even larger than an aravel. It did not look like one of the statues of the Creators that they had in their camp, and when the fog cleared even further Alyn could see that it was a statue of a giant wolf. There was a small altar at its base and they stopped in front of it, forcing Alyn to crane her neck to be able to see the wolf's face. Mamae hunched down on her knees and placed the white poppies on the altar.

" _Atisha, harellan_. May you never catch our scent," she said before she began to say more words in elvish that Alyn could not understand.

She kept staring up at the statue, feeling confused and sad, and then feeling confused over her sadness. Today had been a happy day and there was nothing that had saddened her.

"Hahren Iola has told you the stories of the Dread Wolf, da'halla," Mamae whispered to her and Alyn nodded while she kept looking up at the statue. The clan's storyteller had told many stories of the Dread Wolf and Alyn knew that it was his fault that the Creators did not answer their prayers anymore. He had tricked them and now they were locked away in the heavens. It was why the elves no longer had Arlathan or Elvhenan.

"We place offerings to him to make sure that he never turns his gaze on us. The shemlen hunt us, but the Dread Wolf is the greatest threat to the People," Mamae continued before she let go of Alyn's hand and urged her towards the altar with a small pat on the back. "I must leave you here, Alyn. You have been marked by him, and put a curse on us all."

Mamae's words made her gasp and Alyn turned her gaze away from the statue to look at her, but she was already gone. Alyn was alone with the Dread Wolf and fear and panic gripped her. Tears immediately filled her eyes as her gaze darted around in the foggy forest, searching for her mother. She tried to run in the direction they had come from but it was as if she was tied to the Dread Wolf's statue and her legs would not carry her beyond the clearing.

"Mamae? Mamae! _Mamae!_ " She screamed but heard nothing in response except for her own small voice echoing back at her, and then she stumbled and fell down in the mud.

The poppies she had held in her hand fell down in front of her, but they were not poppies anymore. They were peonies – _shame_ – and she gasped and backed away from them before she ran her hands over her hair to remove the ones Terath had placed there.

"Please don't leave me here. Please, Mamae!" she sobbed when she finally realised that she had truly been abandoned. "I haven't been marked by the wolf. I've been good! _Mamae!_

She screamed out when burning pain struck her left hand, suddenly and violently, and she stared in horror when her palm was slashed open and green flames rose from the scar, covering the skin of her hand before it rose over her wrist.

"I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now." The voice, dark and menacing came from where the statue was, or where it _had_ been as a tall terrifying man now stood there.

One side of his face had melted away and large red shards grew from his head. There was fire burning in his eyes when he glared at her and his scarred lips were pulled back into a snarl. His hands looked like sharp claws and he carried a glowing orb in one of them. Intricate carvings covered its surface, and the glow was the same shade of green as the flames that were now travelling up her small arm. Fear gripped her and she sobbed before she tried to run away, but she was stuck. Mamae had left her and she was stuck and now the angry monster was going to hurt her. The pain in her hand burned and burned until it made her scream and in desperation she curled up on the ground, closed her eyes and covered her ears. If she could not hear or see anything then it was not real. _It isn't real, it isn't real, it isn't real._

 _Ma'eth, Alyn!_

The voice was both close and distant, a whisper in her ears at the same time as it echoed around her, and it sounded both foreign and familiar. The pain in her hand vanished, and after remaining still for a long time, refusing to budge from her curled up position or remove her hands from her ears, she suddenly heard laughter echo around her. It was a bubbling, carefree laughter that seemed to shift the wet ground beneath her and when she opened her eyes she saw that she was no longer in the clearing. She was taller, older, drunk.

Theren Darthal's laughter seemed to bring life to the dark forests around them while they ran in circles around the trees. A bottle of brandy was in his hand, stolen from his Keeper's aravel after they had suffered through the fourth day of Arlathvhen.

"Do you think we'll argue as the Elders do when we become Keepers?" he asked in a voice that was mired with laughter and tasted of spirits. "Creators, days wasted arguing over minor details when we could have discussed new discoveries."

They were both warm and giddy from the alcohol and doing their worst at trying to be quiet so that they would not draw attention to themselves from the large camp of gathered clans in the distance. The Elders' arguing still continued in the evenings, and loud voices and echoed shouts could be heard coming from the camp, along with music, and the endless calls from the halla herds.

In truth, neither she nor Theren should be drunk. They were Firsts, and Firsts were supposed to be serious and pretentious, like Neria of clan Ralaferin. Neither of them liked her very much, even though both of them saw much of their own sombre seriousness in the other elven First; the same wish to learn more of their forgotten history and lore, to one day become good Keepers who would protect their clans from the fate of dwindling into lost shadows that no one would mourn. It was why they had both decided to drink that night; to forget about their worries for just one evening.

Theren suddenly stopped in his tracks, and seconds later Alyn crashed into him. They toppled over in the ground, limbs tangled together, and the bottle of brandy fell down next to them, its content sipping out on the dry grass. They looked at each other, burst into snorted giggles, and shortly afterwards they cared for nothing else but the touch of soft lips and bare skin. She straddled him and he moved up to meet her, his hands resting on her hips before he kissed her hungrily. She closed her eyes when she felt his lips travel over the corners of her mouth, her cheekbones, her brows, before he began tracing the vallaslin honouring Ghilan'nain on her forehead with soft kisses. She held him around the shoulders tightly when he moved on to her ear, his tongue tracing the shell of it before he sucked on the tip, making her shudder and moan. His panting chuckle in her ear sent a shiver running across her body, resting at the pool of heat that had gathered in the pit of her stomach. She opened her eyes, pushed him down to the ground before her lips met his. He groaned in her mouth when she rocked her hips against him, rubbing against his hardness that pressed between her legs, and she deepened the kiss in response before she let her fingers move underneath his tunic.

Finally she was forced to pull up for air and she let her gaze automatically search the area around them to make sure that no patrolling hunters had discovered them. She was just about to move back down for another kiss, when her eyes caught sight of fur and she tensed up. It was hidden in the dark, next to one of the trees a few feet away from them; its fur black as charcoal and six blood red eyes glaring at her in the night. Having sensed her tension and the change in her mood, Theren craned his head back as he followed her gaze. She saw him tilt his head slightly when he noticed the Dread Wolf, and then his amber eyes looked up at her in disgust.

"He's here for you. The Dread Wolf has marked you," he sneered before he pushed her away from him.

She landed on her back in the ground, horror filling her at his words as she watched him rise to his feet, before she turned her gaze to the unmoving wolf.

"No," she whispered. "That's not true."

She had barely spoken the words when her left hand was once again gripped by sharp, burning pain and a mark ripped open her palm. She stared at it in shock, gasping when pain throbbed through her hand and wrist in waves.

"You have cursed us all, lethallin. Your vallaslin should be cut from your face to show our people what a true traitor you are."

She looked up at Theren when his form towered over her, and when she saw the dagger in his hand she quickly rose to her feet and fled. She heard him call out to the hunters, shouting at them to follow her and it made her run faster. She did _not_ want to look back to see if the Dread Wolf was following her. The burning mark on her hand covered the landscape around her in a soft green light as she ran past it; she knew that the hunters would easily be able to locate her position if they saw the glow, and the thought made her keep running, even as her lungs burned and her legs groaned.

She skirted low hanging branches and jumped over tree roots, and rocks, and then she crashed into Solas. He held her in his arms while she gasped for breath, sinking into him slightly as relief washed over her. Solas would help her hide, he was on her side. She pulled back from his arms and managed to catch her breath enough to speak.

"We need to go, Solas. The other clans, _my_ clan..." Her voice cracked and she looked away from him to hide the tears that were brimming in her eyes.

She gasped in pain when she felt him grip the wrist of her marked hand tightly, and when she looked back at him in question she stilled when she saw his eyes stare at her coldly; his gaze void of any empathy or remorse.

"I believe I told you not to trust me, vhenan."

She could hear her heart pounding in her ears when her question turned into confusion, and then she saw his face flicker, saw his slate blue eyes turn blood red for a brief second before the outline of the Dread Wolf surrounded him like a dark aura. She remembered then; remembered Redcliffe, Fen'Harel, his betrayal, Corypheus, Haven burning, the avalanche. Memories poured through the open wound left from Solas' betrayal, and she tried to back away from him. Her struggle made his grip around her wrist tighten further, forming bruises on her skin. An orb suddenly appeared in his other hand, the intricate markings on it coming to life when it sensed her mark, and it made the pain in her hand wash over her with renewed focus.

"I am here for the Anchor," Fen'Harel said coldly before he forced her down on her knees. "The process of removing it begins now."

"No, please," she whimpered, but the man standing above her, the man she had called a friend, had fallen in love with, was ignoring her. He showed her that everything had been a lie, a trick, and that she was now paying for the trust she had placed in him.

She could not move. Every muscle in her body grew colder and colder until it felt like she was frozen in ice. She tried to cast a spell, but the Fade did not respond to her call, and when the magic of the orb connected to the magic in her mark she screamed. Every nerve ending of her body was set aflame, every muscle and limb burned from within and the pain made her tremble violently.

 _Ma'eth, Alyn!_

She could see nothing beyond hot, white pain and heard nothing other than her own sobbing screams ringing in her ears. Her fight or flight instincts had kicked in without her noticing, and despite Fen'Harel's hard grip on her wrist, and the unbearable pain aching through her, she was still trying to fight against it, clutching on to the hand gripping her wrist while she tried to release its hold on her.

 _Ma'eth, Alyn. Ma'eth!_

The pain eventually made her choke and she struggled to breathe, felt her lungs burn as they cried out for air. She was dying. She was at Fen'Harel's mercy and he was killing her.  
No, this was not real. It couldn't be real. _It isn't real, it isn't real, wake up, wake up, wake up!_  
Her vision grew dark, her body went limp, and then everything was silent.

 _Wake up, please..._

She gasped, felt her body tremble as she tried to fill her lungs with as much air as possible in one go. Panic overtook her and she tried to move away from wherever she was to find safety. Her body did not respond to her mind; she was too drained and weak to even lift her head, and all she could do was let raspy, broken sobs escape her lips. Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm and in her panic she gripped it tightly, held on to it like a lifeline as soothing whispers filled her ears, speaking words she struggled to hear while she tried to calm down her erratic breathing.

She attempted to open her eyes, fought hard against the heavy weight of her eyelids, and winced when streams of light filled her vision. She groaned out at the sudden pain, but it was quickly ebbed out when she felt the familiar tingle of soothing spirit magic on her skin.

 _Spirit magic._

Her eyes flew open and she blinked through the brightness until her vision cleared enough for her to see her surroundings. She was in a large tent, empty aside from the makeshift stretcher she had been placed on, and the only other person in there with her was Solas. _Fen'Harel_. She felt her heart beat faster and faster when she looked at the man who had mercilessly killed her in her nightmare. His face was etched in worry as he looked down at her before he placed a magic warmed hand on her forehead.

She realised that it was _his_ hand she had been holding on to, and that she was currently gripping it so tightly that she was certain she had cut off the blood circulation to it. She saw no signs of discomfort on his face however, and he had made no efforts to free his hand from her tight grasp. Instead he kept looking at her with worry while he continued to use his magic to warm her cold skin.

She stared at him quietly as she felt the bitter taste of the nightmare, Haven, Corypheus, the orb and the mark, _his_ lies in the back of her throat. Yet when she was finally able to discern the one word he kept whispering to her over and over again, all she could feel was confusion.

"Ma'eth."

 _You are safe._

"No, I'm not," she whispered hoarsely, before she let go of his hand.


	6. Revelations part 2

**Chapter 6: Revelations II**

The Veil was weaker here than it had been at the camp. Solas could feel the familiar prickle on his skin while he walked, the sounds from the camp were muted echoes behind him, drowned out by the sound of crushed snow beneath his feet. He could feel the Fade pressing against the area, weighing heavy on the weakened barrier that separated it from the waking world. It was time – not battle or death – that was causing the Veil to fade away at a very slow pace, and he looked around sharply, searching for the warning beacon that he knew would have been placed here shortly after the Veil's creation. He was the one who had ordered the beacons to be placed across Elvhenan after all, knowing that there would be locations where age would be the first thing to thin out the Veil.

Summoning a wisp to light the area around him, he soon found what he was looking for. The small, black beacon was a stark contrast to the white snow it rose from, and with a small wave of his hand the torch burned brightly with Veilfire. Green flames flickered and danced in the air while it stretched and grew; reaching out as far as it could in an attempt to touch the weak spots of the Veil around it. He stared at the flames in silence while he prepared himself for what was to come.

He knew that Alyn would follow him here, and that she would not want to talk about the events which had happened earlier in the evening. The humans had sung for her, prayed to her, knelt before her. It had been ages beyond counting since he had seen humans bend knee to an elf so easily – so _willingly_ – but he knew that it had mattered little to her; she had never wanted their worship in the first place, and she had been too preoccupied with glaring daggers at him to pay the slightest bit of attention to them. She wanted answers. He would not presume to know what kind of questions she would ask – he had already done the mistake of thinking he knew what went on in her mind once – but he prepared himself the best he could, knowing that he would need to lie. For a moment he wondered if she would be focused enough to know the difference between truth and lies, seeing as she was still greatly weakened from her ordeal, and then he frowned at his own thoughts. She deserved more than his lies, especially after everything his mistake had put her through.

It had only been a few hours since he had worked himself to the point of near-exhaustion to bring her back from the brink of death. He had been terrified that they had found her too late, that she was already lost to them, and that his powers were too weak to stop it. His emotions had nearly overwhelmed him – the intensity of them shocking him – and it had taken him hours afterwards to be able to shake them off, to bury them with the memories that had already lingered with him through the ages. He had refused to think of them, had refused to consider why they had been there in the first place, and eventually he had blamed it on lack of sleep. Reflecting upon them was not important, not when he needed to remain focused on other matters. He did not need a distraction, and despite what Alyn knew of him, he also knew that Wisdom was wrong. She changed nothing.

The sound of her footsteps behind him broke him out of his thoughts, and he calmed himself, clasped his hands behind his back, and straightened his shoulders before he turned around to look at her. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that faced him.

Alyn came charging towards him with the speed of a swift arrow, her face contorted, nostrils flaring, and eyes nearly as dark as charcoal as an all-consuming fire seemed to burn within them. He had expected anger and hate, but the pure, unfiltered rage that seemed to sustain her was something he had never seen in her before, and it shocked him. The shock remained with him when she shoved him as soon as she reached him.

"What have you done to me, you bastard!" She shouted while she continued to push him back until he regained his composure enough to grab her hands to stop her.

She struggled to jerk her hands away from his grip, but she was still too weak from the ordeal she had survived. Her skin was pale and feverish, and her breathing was heavy and unsteady, as if the walk over and shoving him had put too much strain on her body. There was no doubt in Solas' mind that demons had already gathered on the other side of the weakened Veil; her raw and uncontrollable emotions having drawn them to her like a beacon. Were they already whispering to her, waiting for the first opportunity to strike? Had she even heard them? Having her turn into an abomination because she was too physically and emotionally vulnerable would do no one any favours.

"You need to calm yourself," he urged her coolly before he loosened his grip of her hands.

"Don't tell me to be calm, harellan!" She snapped before she jerked her hands away from him.

Old, wounded pride surged up, a bitter reminder of how misguided and blind her people truly were. He watched her while irritation welled up within him, a condescending retort ready on his tongue, and then he forced it back, told himself that he should not allow her words to affect him, no matter how painful they are. He moulded his face into a calm mask before he once again clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his shoulder. Alyn had taken a step away from him, anger still contorting her face, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists while she glared at him.

"What is all of this? Were you having fun tricking me into trusting you and making me believe that you actually care? Will you laugh at me after you kill me?" she spat.

"No!" His voice came out harsher than expected. He struggled to keep his mask from breaking, and for his disbelief to pour through the cracks when he stared at her. "Is that truly the kind of monster you believe me to be?"

Silence met him. For each second that passed, it grew more and more painful, and he was not certain what he had expected when he had asked her the question. A real answer would have been preferable to the burning glare and tense expression that faced him, revealing more than words ever could. While he would not deny that he did not deserve her ire, he wondered how much of it stemmed from his recent mistakes, and how much of it that was clouded by the ignorance of her people.

"Dalish lore remains accurate as always," he bit out coolly.

"Because you're truly the most biased source when it comes to my people's knowledge on the Dread Wolf," she retorted heatedly.

All thoughts of remaining calm and composed disappeared, and he let out a short, bitter laugh before he threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Indeed, how foolish of me to even think to question the historically accurate tales of the Dalish," he mocked. "Tell me, do I still giggle madly and hug myself in glee in remote corners of the earth after I lock my kin away, or is that small detail something your Elders still argue about during the Arlathvhen?"

Alyn's eyes widened at his question, and she had grown significantly paler, and it ground his irritation to an abrupt halt. He sighed inwardly while he calmed down. He knew that he was better than this. For years he had heard the Dalish stories about the Dread Wolf – had even experienced their violent reaction towards his true identity first-hand. He had learned to ignore their ridiculous tales regarding his actions, had learned to not let their misconstrued opinions about him affect him; yet for some reason, all of those teachings disappeared as soon as he faced the same opinions and prejudice from Alyn. It was a confusing and frustrating weakness which needed to be removed. For a moment they stared at each other in silence, and then he saw the dark fire return to her eyes.

"This mark is yours."

"The anchor is connected to the orb," he corrected and received a quiet glare in response.

"This mark is yours," she repeated through gritted teeth, and he sighed.

"Yes."

"Well then. Your _friend_ tried to rip it from my hand back at Haven and failed. I'm assuming that my death is the only thing that will release the magic in it. So please tell me, _harellan_ , why I shouldn't expect you to stab me in the back."

Solas looked at her quietly while he wondered if she would believe anything he answered.

"The anchor is not why I joined the Inquisition, nor do I have any interest in taking it from you," he replied, and he meant it; he only hoped that his words would get through to her.

The anchor was only a very small part of the power that had been locked inside his orb. That it had not killed her in the first place was something that would never cease to fascinate him. As fascinating and confusing as it had been, he had known that it had been permanent from the moment he had first laid eyes on it, and he still remained focused on retrieving his orb.

"Think what you will," he continued, "but I did not lie when I told you that I joined the Inquisition to offer my help in any way I could. The Breach was a mistake which should never have happened."

He remembered the panic he had felt when the Breach had torn open the sky. The shockwave of the explosion had rushed through the tavern he had taken up rest in, shattering every window in the building and nearly knocking the breath out of him. Panic had ensued among the other patrons, and dread had filled him when he had stumbled out of the building only to see the Fade when he had looked up at the sky. The Breach was never meant to have happened, the _explosion_ was never meant to have happened, and even now he could not puzzle together the pieces to figure out how the orb had caused so much damage. He had watched helplessly while spirits had been ripped through the tear in the sky, the shock of being pulled from the Fade against their will quickly twisting them into demons, and he had been sick to his stomach. It had been a mistake. That was not how it was supposed to have happened. It had all been a terrible, horrible mistake.

"If the Breach was a mistake, then why did you give Corypheus the orb?" she asked.

"Corypheus was a means to an end."

He had not questioned why Corypheus was at the Conclave, or what he was planning on doing there. He had heard of it, of course, the great hope for an end to the war between mages and templars was a subject that seemed to have been on everyone's lips back then. The topic had been so popular that even someone who spent much of their time away from civilisation – like he had – had heard of the Divine's peace meeting. He had followed Corypheus, but had never questioned. Instead he had been content to wait, knowing that he would hear the call of his power when the orb was unlocked. There were many things he should have questioned.

"A means to an end?" Alyn repeated slowly, the knot in her brow tightened.

"I needed him to unlock the orb. I suspect the blast that destroyed the Conclave was more accidental than anything. What I cannot understand is how he managed to survive such an explosion."

"Unbelievable," she whispered.

She shook her head in disbelief and seemed lost in her own thoughts, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _Varric_ , before fixing her gaze on him with renewed anger.

"What were you planning to do with the orb?"

It was the question he had been waiting for from the moment she had arrived. The one question he had no desire to answer. Even if she was not currently blinded by her emotions – something he knew he could not blame her for – he doubted that he would ever be able to tell her of his plans. She would never be able to understand what their people had lost, would never be able to fully understand that he was going to make things better. A small part of him wanted to tell her everything, wanted to make her see. That part was quickly buried when he knew that there was a small risk that she would want to help him. He balked inwardly at the thought of her joining him, knowing that the path he was planning to walk once his orb was returned to him was a lonely and unforgiving one.

"It matters little what my plans were. All that matters is stopping Corypheus before he uses it to do more damage."

She crossed her arms over her chest, clearly unhappy with his reply. He did not let himself waver.

"Your future self seemed very insistent that I ask you about your plans."

Yes, his future self; the reason he was in this situation in the first place. His admission to Alyn was still a frustrating revelation that made him wish that he had asked to know more of what had happened in that dark future. He could not understand why he had risked everything he had planned, but it angered him; especially when the only one who held those answers would never exist.

"Whatever I said and did in that future was based on nothing but ill-thought-out decisions and regrettable actions. It was a mistake that was surely born out of nothing more than simple desperation."

For the first time since she had sought him out, the anger vanished from her features. The fire behind her eyes was swiftly extinguished and nothing remained but pain. His words had hurt her, and he could not fully comprehend why. While his deception had been regrettable, it had also been necessary, and had she not found out the truth in Redcliffe, he would never have revealed himself to her. Pain still lingered in her eyes while she tried to mask her features and he saw her swallow hard before she spoke.

"Well then, good to know." Her voice shook slightly and she cleared her throat before she shook her head.

"As I said, Corypheus must be stopped. He seeks to become a god, and he sees you as his greatest rival. You already thwarted his plans at the Conclave and at Redcliffe. Once he finds out that you survived Haven he will not leave you be until you are dead."

She surprised him by laughing. There was no emotion behind it and he felt the familiar twinge of guilt grip him. She had never asked for any of this. If she had not received his mark then she would most likely be back with her clan right now. These were his mistakes, but he would not let her die because of them, and no matter how much she fought against it, she surely knew that the Inquisition still needed her help. _He_ needed her help.

"I could just point him in your direction and give him a real god to fight with," she commented with a voice laced in bitterness and he frowned slightly.

He remained silent for a moment, wondering if she would believe him if he told her that he was not a god. None of them had been gods. Would a proud Dalish such as her be able to face that harsh reality, or would she call it another trick? The last Dalish clan he had visited long before his plans had taken form had called his words blasphemous and had responded to his facts with violence. He decided to ignore her jibe before he continued.

"If the Inquisition is to stop Corypheus, it will need a place where they can rebuild, grow. The events at Haven have changed everything, and the Inquisition will follow you wherever you lead them. There lies an abandoned fortress far to the north called Skyhold. It is a remote location deep in the mountains that offers far more protection should Corypheus decide to attack again."

She stared at him with no small amount of incredulity.

"Where did you find this place?"

"I rediscovered its location through the Fade. Skyhold is built upon ancient elven ruins."

"What kind of ancient elven ruins?"

He paused for a moment, knowing that she would most likely not want to go there if she knew that the ruins had once been his.

"It used to be a refuge for travellers who passed through these mountains."

It was not entirely a lie. The threat the elves had sought refuge from, however, had been the Blight, not the mountains.

"So you're expecting me to lead the Inquisition, defeat Corypheus, and just hand over the artefact that created the Breach to you?"

"The matter of the orb is something we can discuss when the time comes," he lied, knowing that there would be no discussions when he finally had his focus in his hands. "Think what you may of me, Alyn, but you know as well as I that you need my help as much as I need yours."

He saw her think it through, saw her face contort and change as she seemed to struggle with her inner thoughts, and then he saw her shoulders sink in resignation when she knew that she had no other choice. He knew that her sense of duty was stronger than her anger and pain, and that she would not abandon the Inquisition while Thedas remained under threat.

"Bastard," she snapped before she turned and left.

He looked after her while he forced himself to remain calm even when the emotions he had held back during the evening threatened to break loose from their constraints. He watched her stop, shoulders tensing and hands clenching into fists while she seemed to be deciding on what to do. Then she looked over her shoulder and uttered four words that hit him like bricks.

"You called me vhenan."


	7. Inquisitor

**Elvish:**

 **Da'halla - Little halla**

 **Lath sulevin - Be certain in need**

 **Lath aravel ena - And the path will emerge**

 **Arla ven tu vir mahvir - To a home tomorrow**

 **Melana 'nehn - And time will again**

 **Enasal sa lethallin - Be the joy it once was**

 **Mala suledin nadas - Now you must endure**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Inquisitor**

 _They say that Fen'Harel did not care for the People. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him..._

" _The matter of the orb is something we can discuss when the time comes."_

 _And he left, and the great beast came into the village that night and killed the warriors, and the women, and the elders..._

" _It matters little what my plans were. All that matters is stopping Corypheus before he uses it to do more damage."_

 _And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People..._

" _Think what you may of me, Alyn, but you know as well as I that you need my help as much as I need yours."_

 _They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed..._

" _Is that truly the kind of monster you believe me to be?"_

 _The villagers asked Fen'Harel how he would save them..._

" _Do not trust him, vhenan."_

 _And he said to them,_

' _When did I say that I would save you?'_

"Skyhold truly is a blessing in our darkest hour. It is fortunate that we found it when we did."

Cassandra's voice broke Alyn out of her reverie, immediately putting an abrupt halt to her thoughts. She turned her gaze to the woman slowly, feeling almost detached as her words sunk in. _Skyhold was a blessing_. Unsurprising words coming from the Seeker, considering it seemed to be a sentiment shared with the rest of the Inquisition. After a long and gruesome journey through cold and unforgiving mountains, the old fortress _had_ seemed like the light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

The Inquisition had taken a collective sigh of relief before they had immediately begun work on repairing Skyhold. The mood had changed; while the hours passed it seemed as if everyone was beginning to relax more as they accepted the safety of Skyhold's thick and sturdy walls, walls that offered more protection than Haven had ever been able to. Alyn, however, could not see anything beyond the strings that were attached to the fortress. A price would be paid for the safety, eventually. The Lord of Tricksters did not help mortals without consequences after all, and she quietly disagreed with Cassandra's statement.

Skyhold was not a blessing, it was a curse.

"It is," she responded, placing her gloved hands on the stony railing while she looked down at the bustling crowd in the courtyard below.

They have found the fortress a scant week earlier, and almost as soon as they had arrived Iron Bull had offered to return his mercenary company back to Haven to search for supplies and more survivors. Signs of the Chargers' work was already beginning to appear. More and more refugees and recruits arrived through the high gates of Skyhold each day, seeking sanctuary from the war and offering to help in their fight to stop Corypheus in any way they could.  
None of them knew that a greater threat than Corypheus was housed within these walls.  
Had Alyn been the person she had been before Redcliffe and Haven, she would have been burdened down with guilt when she saw the look of relief on their faces when they believed themselves safe. Now she was too detached to allow herself to sink down that dark hole. She shut out the fear, anger, pain, and doubt, and beneath it all – buried among emotions and memories she never looked back on – she placed the feelings she held for Solas.

" _You called me 'vhenan',"_ she had told him and now she looked back on her words and cringed inwardly. They had been wasted on a man who had not deserved to hear them, and saying them would not have turned the lie real. Solas was a man who had never existed, would never come to exist, and now she focused only on garnering the strength she needed so that she could do the duty she had been trained for and stand against Fen'Harel. She knew that he had plans, knew that they involved the orb. After having seen the damage Corypheus had done while wielding its power, after having twisted and turned every word Fen'Harel had told her while she had thought him to be Solas, she knew that whatever he had planned would more than likely do as much, if not more, damage to the world.

"You should know," Cassandra started, once again interrupting her thoughts. "I have had many discussions with Leliana, Cullen and Josephine these past few days. We intend to make you our Inquisitor." Alyn immediately snapped her gaze back to Cassandra and she furrowed her brow when she saw the calm and determination graze over the Seeker's features. Her eyes, sharp and focused, never broke away from hers. "Word of Skyhold has spread; it will no doubt have gained the attention of the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated. But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you."

" _The anchor is not why I joined the Inquisition, nor do I have any interest in taking it from you."_

The mark in question flared up, burning in the palm of Alyn's hand, but she remained quiet while she ignored the stinging pain, letting her fingers curl into a fist in an attempt to keep the pulsing of magic at bay. The anchor had grown wilder and more painful since Corypheus had tried to rip it from her palm. It was a familiar pain, the same kind she had felt on the fateful day when she had woken up in a dark and damp prison cell at Haven.  
Back then the mark had slowly been killing her and the worry that the same thing was happening now hovered over her like a shadow, but she pushed it away, kept the anchor hidden from others. She could live with the pain and she hoped that it was nothing more than a simple side-effect from Corypheus' meddling. She had no desire to involve anyone else in the matter, especially not the man who would know what might be causing the anchor's instability; particularly not when she had avoided him for the past week. She would not show weakness in front of the Dread Wolf.

"Corypheus came for the anchor, and now it's useless to him so he wants me dead. That's all there is to it, Cassandra," she replied quietly before she turned her gaze away from the Seeker, letting her eyes move over the mountain tops that towered over the walls around Skyhold.

In the past she would have protested more about the decision that Cassandra and the advisors had made behind her back. Now she found that she did not see the point in it. They had already used her as a rallying cry to create the Inquisition, building upon the tales that she had been sent to them by their beloved prophet to bolster their numbers. The revelation that the anchor was magic and not a gift she had received from Andraste would not keep them from continuing to use her as a symbol. She could not leave the Inquisition so long as Corypheus, and Fen'Harel, remained a threat to the people she cared about back home, and she would not be allowed to remain on the side-lines while she stayed.

"The anchor has power, but it's not why you're still standing here. Your decisions closed the Breach, your determination has led us this far. The Inquisition needs a leader if we are to survive through this war, and you are that leader."

 _A pawn_ , her mind whispered and a flash of irritation soared through her but she held it back. There was no point in debating, even when her pride screamed at her to push back, even when her instincts told her to run away.

"Fine."

Slowly her mind began to trace back the steps of the path she had walked on so far, until she saw a forest clearing in front of her, felt the biting night winds that had caused her to shiver against her skin. Worn hands held hers firmly, dark eyes lingered on her, while prayers spoken with a voice that never faltered filled her ears.

" _May Mythal protect you on your journey, may Dirthamen keep you shrouded, may Ghilan'nain give you strength, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent."_  
 _"Ma serannas."_  
 _"Remember, da'len, you are only there to observe. This meeting could be the change our people have waited for. Dareth Shiral."_  
 _"Dareth Shiral, Keeper."_

"I... have to admit," Cassandra began hesitantly. "I expected more protests from you. I know that you were not open to the idea of staying when the Inquisition first began."

Cassandra's words sounded hollow in her ears, distant even though the warrior still stood next to her. Alyn let out a quiet huff of air while she kept tracing the mountains with her gaze, her attention still half-buried in memories that seemed to have taken place in a different time and a different life, when her worries were trivial and she was not facing the threat of two ancient beings from two different directions.

"Things change," she replied shortly.

"I see."

" _Remain strong, da'halla. I pray your task will not keep you away from us for long."_

In the shadow of darkness the black vallaslin of Elgar'nan had made Terath's pale eyes stand out like stars in the night sky. They bore into her, intense and unwavering, filled with sorrow and steel that had lingered over decades.

" _Lath sulevin,"_ she had told him and he had sighed.

"Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?" Alyn asked, the slight hint of impatience creeping into her voice as she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. Thankfully the Seeker seemed to have gotten the hint.

"I... no. Josephine thought it would be a good idea to hold a ceremony to officially announce you as our Inquisitor. It will be held tomorrow. The Inquisition will follow wherever you lead them, Herald."

The words still rung in her ears after Cassandra had left her. She knew that the Seeker had meant the words as a comfort, but they sounded empty. The Inquisition would only follow her as long as she did not make the wrong choice or she would most likely end up as Shartan. The Dalish did not forget the fate of the elven hero who had fought to free the People from Tevinter slavery, even when the Chantry had done everything they could to erase him from their history.

" _Lath aravel ena, arla ven tu vir mahvir, melana'nehn, enasal sa lethallin,"_ Terath had finally responded the night she had left her clan to travel to the Conclave. _"Mala suledin nadas, Alyn. Be strong."_

She would have to write a letter back home, tell Keeper Deshanna to move the clan. They remained camped in the forests surrounding Wycome only because they awaited her return. When she had left them she had not expected to be away for more than a couple of months, but now things had changed, and she would not have her kin risk their safety for the sake of her. She needed to make sure that they were safe from anyone who would use them against her.

She jumped when she heard an unexpected pop next to her before she noticed a figure in the corner of her eye. When she turned her head in its direction, she found herself meeting the intense gaze of ice blue eyes peering out from the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat. Her rapidly beating heart slowed down when recognition settled in and she let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Hello, Cole."

The human man looked slightly distressed as he stared at her, his shoulder sunken and hands wringing together.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

She gave him a strained smile and hoped that it looked reassuring enough.

"You didn't. I was just surprised."

"Oh. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Cole."

"Okay. Sorry."

This time she had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from smiling. She was still getting used to Cole's presence in the Inquisition and was still uncertain of how to behave around him.

She knew that more people would have died in the attack at Haven if he had not managed to outrun Corypheus' forces to warn them. Although his appearance at the time had been strange and suspect, it had not been until shortly after the Inquisition had arrived at Skyhold – when things had calmed down enough that his unusual behaviour had stood out – that his true nature had been revealed.

Fen'Harel had called him a spirit, Vivienne and Cassandra had called him a demon, and Cole had said that he only wanted to help. She had watched as he helped wounded soldiers, had listened to him while he had recited their painful thoughts as if he had been reading them from a note. He could hear pain, but he could not hear hers. The anchor made her too bright to hear, he had said, and for the first time since the mark had appeared on her hand, she had been grateful to have it. Alyn had allowed him to stay and help, and it was the last she had seen of him, until now. For a moment she worried, wondering if the protection the anchor had given her had disappeared and that he could now hear her thoughts. Her worry dissipated when he began to speak.

"She doesn't believe she can be the leader they require. She doesn't think they would follow her as they would follow you. She told the others that you would be better even though she knew that you didn't want it. Why did she do that?"

She sighed.

"I don't know, Cole." She licked her lips before she looked away from the spirit. She knew why Cassandra had done what she had, but saying it would mean accepting it, and her instincts were stubbornly telling her not to give in. She buried it, swallowed her pride. "Sometimes we have to do what is needed, even if it isn't what we want."

She would endure this, just as her people had endured through the ages. She would lead the Inquisition, and she would stop Corypheus. She would remain strong for her people, she would be their Keeper in everything but name, and she would stand against the Dread Wolf when the time came.

" _Vir bor'assan,_ " Cole said and she looked back at him in surprise.

"Where did you hear that, Cole?"

"It was written in the letter."

"What letter?"

"The one that came this morning from your clan. There was pain in the page."

He had barely finished the words before she began to run towards the main building in search for Leliana.

* * *

Word of the attack at Haven and Skyhold had reached her clan. Leliana had sent an agent to inform them and the letter had been sent with a raven. Alyn spent the rest of the afternoon and evening hidden away in one of the rundown rooms at Skyhold, reading the letter over and over again until she could recite the words written from memory. It had not been written by Keeper Deshanna but by Terath and his handwriting was hurried, jagged, and filled with worry. The words, however, conveyed comfort, support, and guidance. They knew that she would not return to them as soon as they had hoped.

 _It saddens us that you remain away from us, Alyn, but we will continue to pray to the Creators so that they may protect you. Vir bor'assan, as the sapling bends, so must you. Know that we are proud of you._

Like a child longing for home she drew the parchment up to her nose and shut her eyes, imagining that she could inhale the scent of incense. She allowed her mind to take her back to the clan, to evenings spent in front of the fire, listening to the stories of Hahren Iola, to afternoons spent in Keeper Deshanna's aravel, discussing the history and lore of their people. She thought of days spent in the forests, bantering with Falon and Revas as they affectionately made jokes about her poor skill with handling a bow and she smiled. She knew that she would see them again once this was over. For now, she would endure.

* * *

When the Inquisition officially declared her as the Inquisitor the next day, she declared herself an ambassador for the elves. It was a subtle statement, but she would not allow this human-founded Andrastrian Inquisition forget who she was or who she fought for.  
When she entered the great hall with her advisors in tow, heading towards the war room, she noticed Fen'Harel standing by the entrance to the rotunda. She met his eyes for only a moment before she quickly looked away, pretending that she hadn't noticed him. In that short second, however, she had seen the tiniest of smiles on his lips, and steel-blue eyes looked at her with what she had only been able to discern as pride.  
She was not sure what to make of it.

* * *

Evening brought celebrations. The newly repaired and opened tavern was filled to the brim, providing respite to patrons who wanted to forget about the past and drink to newfound hope. Yet Alyn still lingered on the events of the day, on the confusion and uncertainty it had brought with it. She had quickly found that she lacked the energy to remain in the large crowd, and had quietly gone upstairs where she found Cole standing in a dark corner on the top floor. His distant eyes looked at nothing while he spoke quietly to himself, murmuring the pain he sensed hidden in the patrons celebrating. She watched him for a moment before she decided that she did not want to disturb him and turned in the opposite direction to reach the door that would take her out to the ramparts.

"Voice ringing with fullness from both worlds, guiding me to the shining places. He calls himself Pride."

His words were soft-spoken but they echoed in her ears as she froze. She gripped the wooden railing tightly before she turned back to look at the spirit made flesh. His gaze was on her, focused and present; ice blue eyes that seemed able to look beyond flesh causing her skin to prickle. He could hear the pain of others, and yet it had never occurred to her that the spirit would be able to hear Fen'Harel. Did the Dread Wolf know pain, she wondered before she recalled the story he had told her before the attack at Haven; the story of Fen'Harel's rebellion. She remembered the emotions she had felt while listening to his elvish, the barely concealed pain in his voice when he had told her what it had been about. Yet, after everything that had happened up until now, she had firmly dismissed it as another one of his lies.

She approached Cole with guarded steps, took a look around to make sure that they were alone before she spoke.

"Do you know who he is?"

"Yes," he answered quickly, and then his eyes focused on a point beyond her, once again fogging over as they grew distant. "Old pain, shadows forgotten from dreams too real. This side is slow and heavy, but here is what can change."

The loud and cheerful conversation and music coming from the tavern downstairs somehow made the silence left by Cole's words heavier, and Alyn could only look at him numbly while she tried to digest what he was saying.

"Does it not bother you that he's lying to everyone?"

Cole blinked at her.

"He lied?"

"About the orb and the Breach and about who he is," she clarified, wincing slightly at the sharpness of her tone.

"Oh." Another blink. "He wears a different mask, but he is still Pride. Solas, bright and sad, observes and accepts, spirit self, seeing the soul, Solas, but somehow sorrows. He wants to help."

Doubt crept in, fighting against the instinctual pride that had been with her since she had been old enough to learn the history of her people. Whispers that told her that she was wrong poured through the cracks in the walls that insisted that she was right.  
 _The villagers asked Fen'Harel how he would save them, and he said to them, 'When did I say that I would save you?'_

Yet slowly her doubt spread and grew, and before she could stop herself she had already asked the question.

"Who does he want to help, Cole?"

"The People."


	8. Stories

**Chapter 8: Stories**

"There you are. A word if I may?"

Josephine's appearance surprised Alyn and she blinked at the ambassador in confusion before she took note of her surroundings. She was in the great hall. She had been so deep in her own thoughts that she could not even recall leaving the tavern after her conversation with Cole. How long had she been wandering around?

"Are you alright, Inquisitor?"

She looked back at Josephine.

"Yes. Did you need something?"

The ambassador nodded and indicated with a wave of her hand for her to follow. Alyn obliged but it did not take long for the walls to disappear into a blur as she sunk back into her thoughts.  
 _"He wants to help,"_ Cole had said and the doubt his words brought remained within her, unshakeable and ever-growing. Once, Alyn had been confident in what she had known. She had known where her place was and what her duties were. Despite everything they had lost and everything they struggled to regain, she had fully believed in the accuracy of the stories that remained of her people's history and lore.  
Now only a sliver of that confidence remained and even that was threatening to vanish no matter how tightly she held on to it. She doubted, and if there was anything she really disliked, it was doubt and the uncertainty it brought with it. While she followed Josephine through the empty and dark hall, stories of Fen'Harel's great misdeeds echoed alongside memories of his recent actions, battling each other for her attention.

The Creators had once walked among the People, and now they were trapped in the heavens, betrayed by Fen'Harel.  
 _He wants to help the People._  
Fen'Harel never cared for the People.

Josephine opened the door to her office and the heat in the room snapped Alyn back to reality. A fire raged in the fireplace, the flames flickering as cold air from the great hall swept in. Josephine let out a shiver before she closed the door behind Alyn and went to sit by the desk that had recently been brought into the room. Where the desk had been acquired from, she had no idea, and she stared at it for a brief moment before she decided that knowing was unimportant and returned to her thoughts.

 _The orb is Fen'Harel's. He allowed Corypheus to take it from him._  
 _And now he's helping the Inquisition to stop him._  
 _Because he wants the orb back!_

"We've sent messages to Empress Celene regarding the threat to her life. Unfortunately, the political situation in the empire is dangerously unstable. It's impossible to know if she's received them."

After they had returned from Redcliffe, she held a long meeting with her advisors, informing them of everything that Corypheus had done in the future. The assassination of the Orlesian empress had only been one of them, but currently it was what both Josephine and Leliana deemed to be the threat that required swift action.

 _We wouldn't have known about Corypheus' plans to kill Celene if not for Fen'Harel._ _  
_ _He also told you not to trust him. He is using the Inquisition._

Why _was_ he here? Why did he need their help? Why had he pretended to be a hedge mage apostate in the first place? He was a god and Corypheus was not; should he not be able to stop Corypheus himself?

"Okay."

He had sacrificed himself at Redcliffe so that she and Dorian could return to the present, had he not? Once the demons had beached the door to the throne room at Redcliffe she had watched them throw Blackwall's dead body on the ground, but in the chaos she could not recall seeing Fen'Harel's.

"I've made some inquiries into the Imperial Court. Celene is planning to hold peace talks under the auspices of a Grand Masquerade. Every power in Orlais will be there. It's the perfect place for an assassin to hide."

 _Can a god die?_  
The red lyrium had poisoned him just as it had poisoned Blackwall and Grand Enchanter Fiona. She remembered the dark circles around his red lyrium corrupted, foggy eyes. The red aura seemed to emit from his body as if the lyrium was growing within him. After having seen Grand Enchanter Fiona succumb to the lyrium, it had been with dread that she realised he would meet the same fate. He had been dying.

"Great."

Can _a god die?_

 _"I am dying, vhenan, but no matter. If I can help you return, to prevent any of this from happening then my life is yours."_ _  
_ _He's the Dread Wolf. A trickster!_

"Inquisitor, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," she responded immediately, making sure that she met the ambassador's gaze. Josephine looked unconvinced but resumed talking nonetheless.

"I am working on arranging an invitation to the ball. Unfortunately we do not have enough power or reach to be of interest to the Orlesian nobility."

Fen'Harel was the reason for her being in this situation in the first place. If he had not allowed Corypheus to take the orb, the Divine would not have died, the peace meeting would have gone ahead as planned and Alyn would have returned to her clan by now.  
Or she would have been dead.

"Are they not concerned about Corypheus?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, moved her hand up to her mouth and began to pinch her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger while she scowled.  
Fen'Harel had saved her life, _twice_. Had it not been for him she would have succumbed to the anchor's magic.  
 _His fault!_

"The empress is in the middle of a civil war with her cousin. As far as the imperial court is concerned, that takes greater priority than Corypheus. The Venatori have yet to make themselves known in Orlais and despite its ties to the Chantry, they see Haven as a Fereldan village. They do not believe that Orlais is threatened by Corypheus."

 _Corypheus' fault_. He would have found another way in an attempt to reach his goals, regardless of the orb.  
Yet hundreds of people had died at Haven because of Fen'Harel's mistake.  
He had paid for his mistakes with his life at Redcliffe.  
 _Can_ _a god die?_

"If they fail to see the threat for what it is, can't we simply ignore them and focus on Corypheus himself?"

Josephine looked at her with the mask of infinite patience. No doubt a trait she had learned when she had worked as the Antivan ambassador in Orlais.

"Orlais holds Tevinter at bay, Inquisitor. All of Thedas could be lost if the empire falls to Corypheus. We must be vigilant, to avert disaster."

"Oh. I'm guessing you have a suggestion on how we should handle this then?"

 _He wants to help the People-_  
 _He hates the People-_  
 _His lies-_  
 _His fault-_  
 _"He wears a different mask, but he is still Pride. Solas, bright and sad, observes and accepts, spirit self, seeing the soul, Solas, but somehow sorrows. He wants to help."_

"If our word will have any standing with the imperial court, we must increase our reach and standing in Orlais. Leliana's scouts report imperial forces needing aid in the Exalted Plains. Should we assist them, they may spread word of the Inquisition's work to the imperial court. It would increase our chances of receiving an invitation to the peace talks."

" _May_ spread?"

Josephine's smile was almost conspiratorial.

"Don't worry, Inquisitor. Leliana and I will make sure that stories of your assistance reaches Val Royeaux and Halamshiral."

 _Stories._ Alyn froze.

"What?"

"It is imperative that our reputation within the empire grows and we cannot do so without becoming participants in the Game. The nobility _will_ hear of our assistance in the Exalted Plains. Whether or not everything they hear will be true, however, is another matter entirely. I suggest that you head to the region as soon as possible, should someone from the courts seek to verify our presence there. At your discretion, Leliana will send word ahead so that her men can set up camp and scout the area."

 _"Dalish lore remains accurate as always."_ _  
_ _"Because you're truly the most biased source when it comes to my people's knowledge on the Dread Wolf."_

Suddenly her throat felt parched. She swallowed thickly before she spoke hoarsely.

"We'll head out tomorrow." She turned to walk before she hesitated and looked over her shoulder. "Thank you, Josephine."

When she left the office, her skin prickled as the cool air in the great hall enveloped her and she took a deep, shaky breath to let it enter her lungs. It did nothing to clear up her doubt nor did it calm her racing mind.

 _Stories._ For generations the known history and lore had been passed down in the form of stories. It was said that the ancient elves passed down their history in a similar fashion. She had always believed that the core of their stories were true, but she could not shake off the dreaded feeling that they were nothing more than embellished tales; patch-worked and failed attempts at regaining a small semblance of everything they had lost.

 _"They are children fumbling in the dark."_ It was what Fen'Harel had once said of the Dalish, back when she had still thought him to be Solas; that thought bubbled up a short, disbelieving laugh that echoed against the walls of the dark and empty hallway.

She remembered how wounded her pride had been after their first conversation on elven culture; how she had told him that she would make their lore right if they were wrong in an attempt to prove to him that he was wrong about her people. For the first time since the attack, she remembered the journal and realised that it had been lost in Haven among so many other things and another, more panicked laugh escaped her lips.

The stories he had told her had been additions to what she had known, not amendments; that was until the story of Fen'Harel's rebellion. The emotions she had felt as he told her the story still lingered within her, the braids she had created with them floating in her mind. Of all the stories he could have chosen to tell her, he had chosen that one. Had he known, back then, that she knew who he was and wanted to give her a story where his role was different? Had he deliberately recited the story in elvish so that she would not know the details beyond what she had felt? More questions arose, more doubt, the sliver of confidence slowly but steadily weakening.

 _Do you really know who Fen'Harel_ is?

Her eyes moved to the door to the rotunda before resting on the light that broke through at the bottom, shining on the ground. Slowly she crossed the great hall until she reached it and her hand hovered over the handle, hesitating for the smallest of seconds before she grabbed it and turned.

She entered the room on silent steps and was met with flashes of colour. She had avoided the rotunda from the moment Fen'Harel had made it his, had pointedly avoided even looking down at it whenever she visited the library or the rookery. Now her eyes flickered over the walls, taking in colours and motifs, telling their stories to the world. The _Inquisition's_ stories she realised, her eyes moving over the black and white wolves that howled beneath the sword of the Inquisition before she looked over at the mural next to it and stiffened.

Two castles, two backgrounds, two timelines; Redcliffe. She walked up to it while she took in every line and edge of the art, every shadow and shape. A solitary white wolf howled in the sky as it stood on a mountain in the dark future and her eyes lingered on it and she wondered who it howled for, wondered if it was a memory of the man who had revealed the truth.

"Inquisitor."

She broke her gaze away from the fresco and found him seated on the sofa on the other side, a book in his hand and unreadable eyes looking at her. Above them, cages rattled as Leliana's ravens flapped their wings, as if startled by the sudden sound of his voice.

"Solas."

Silence stretched between them, both of them remaining in their separate positions, unmoving as they looked at each other. She wanted answers and she was desperate for anything that would remove the doubt, yet as she stood there she found herself unable to give voice to her questions.

"I've been asked to go to the Exalted Plains. I'm planning to head out tomorrow. I'd like for you to accompany me."

For a second his mask broke and she saw something akin to surprise, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and he watched her quietly, his eyes moving as if searching for something.

"If the Inquisition requires my assistance, I will be glad to lend it," he finally said.

 _"He wants to help."_

"Thank you."

She lingered for a moment, battling with her inner thoughts before she decided to leave. Walking towards the door to the great hall, she could feel his eyes on her as he followed her movement. She stopped just before she reached it and turned back to look at him.

"Who _are_ you?"

If her question had caught him off-guard, he made no show of it, though once again she watched as his eyes searched her face.

"I am not sure I understand the question."

She moved closer to the sofa he sat on and lowered her voice while she spoke. It was late evening and most of the Inquisition staff were in bed or drinking in the tavern, yet she did not want to risk it.

"I can't make any sense of you. Why do you remain here? Why do you need our help to stop Corypheus when you should be powerful enough to stop him yourself? The Creators saw you as their kin, you are one of them, yet when Dorian and I found you in Redcliffe you told us you were dying. _Can_ you die?" She saw a small crease form between his brows and she sighed. "Nevermind."

He closed the book that was in his hands before he put it down next to him.

"I wonder," he began slowly, carefully, while he rose to his feet, "what is it you hope to gain from these questions?"

He moved towards her, his hands clasped behind his back, and she found herself mimicking his stance while she watched him.

"Understanding."

He stopped in front of her, close enough that she had to bring her face up to meet his eyes.

"Is it not enough to know that I will remain and assist in any way I can until Corypheus has been stopped?"

She wanted it to be enough. She wanted to pretend like none of this had happened and go on her way, confident in the knowledge that her people had collected. But pretending would be a disservice, both to herself and to her people.

"No."

"Some questions are best left unanswered."

"Don't tell me to close my eyes and pretend," she whispered, certain that she looked as desperate as she felt. "I can't do that. I need to understand."

He did not respond. Instead he looked away. She found it odd how he seemed more guarded with his knowledge now that she knew who he was. She was almost certain that had she asked him the same questions when she still thought him to be Solas, he would have shared the answers. Then again, what had she done since she found out the truth about him? She had avoided him, she had physically assaulted him, and she had called him names. He was not free of any wrongdoings, but she would not be able to force him to answer. She sighed and cautiously made a new attempt.

"Before we closed the Breach you told me the story of your rebellion. Was it true?"

"It was," he replied after another moment of silence.

"What happened?"

His gaze snapped back to her, eyes dark with sorrow and the crease between his brows deepening as he frowned.

"It was a mistake, made by a much younger elf than I," he replied thickly. "It was an act born out of desperation. I believed it was the only way to save my people."

He painted with broad strokes when she wanted details. Still, her mind raced while she tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together. The stories Josephine and Leliana would pass to the Orlesian nobility would still have some elements of truth in it, enough to make the fabrication sound more believable. She wondered if there was some element of truth to her people's stories. The story of the Great Betrayal whispered in her mind and she swallowed before she spoke.

"You rebelled against the gods, didn't you?"

He smiled sadly.

"We were never gods, Alyn."


	9. Slow Arrow

**Elvish:**

 **Dirth'ena enasalin - Elvish name for the Arcane Warriors**

* * *

 **Chapter 9. Slow Arrow**

It was the grandest opera to be performed in Arlathan in decades. The costumes had been tailored to perfection, and if the director was to be believed, the best performers had rehearsed day and night for several years. The evening of the grand opening had finally arrived and nearly every noble in Arlathan was there. Their focus was on the stage, their eyes shining brightly in the dark from the magical runes that lit the raised platform.

The subject of the play was one they remembered well but pretended that they had forgotten: the slave rebellion in the southern city of Shivanas. None of the nobles would describe it as anything but a "minor scuffle"; calling it anything else would be the same as admitting that their role in society was not as safe as they believed. Watching a play on how the rebellion had been snuffed beneath the feet of noble heroes was the perfect way to cater to their fragile egos.

Seated casually on a chair made of ironbark, Fen'Harel looked completely and utterly bored, preferring to play with a wisp he had summoned rather than focusing on the performance. It was what anyone who cast a glance at the balcony he was seated in would see at least; in truth, the boredom was only a mask, and he had summoned the wisp to distract himself from the irritation that slowly grew within him. He found the play insulting, pandering to people who did not deserve the attention while greatly misconstruing the true cause of the rebellion.

On stage the rebelling slaves were portrayed as ungrateful traitors who turned against their masters for no other reason than the desire for power. In reality the slaves had rebelled because they had desired their freedom; a simple fact that managed to escape the minds of the captivated audience as they applauded when the hero of the opera, a Shivanian noble, appeared on the stage for the first time. Fen'Harel sighed when the hero began to sing of the unjustified actions of the rebel slaves, and he pinched the bridge of his nose when the nobles cheered. The beginning of a headache was threatening to grow and he shut his eyes while he wondered if he would be able to leave without anyone noticing. He had never wanted to attend the opera anyway.

Mythal had sent him messages for weeks, ignoring his scathing replies. She had chosen the play they would attend, and the fact that she had yet to arrive had only served to increase his irritation. She had coaxed him out of his self-imposed exile by stating that it would be good for society to see him walk amongst them again. Of course, by society she meant the nobles. The silent threat that Elgar'nan would have his head if he did not fall back in line had burned between her written words. The rebellion at Shivanas had, after all, never really been able to take form had it not been due to his encouragement; a fact few knew about.

In dreams he had approached the slaves, fanning the flames of rebellion in their hearts while giving them advice on how to best fight their masters. He had sought out the leaders of the rebels, feeding them information on how to lead and fight from the shadows. The slaves were not somniari and were unable to walk in the Fade with full consciousness, but he had done everything he could to ingrain his information into their minds so that they were able to make use of it after they had awoken.

The rebellion had lasted for nearly a year. News of the uprising had made nobles in other cities cautious, and any sign of insurgency was quickly snuffed out by their dirth'ena enasalin. The deaths of their fellow slaves had only added fuel to the fire of the rebellion at Shivanas, but it had not been enough. In the end it had not been noble "heroes" or the dirth'ena enasalin that had ended the rebellion, but betrayal. The promise for power had made the leaders turn on their people and the blow had struck too hard for the remaining rebels to be able to recover. When evening had fallen on the day the rebellion had been crushed, the streets of Shivanas had been coloured red with the blood of slaves. Half a century later and the memory of it was still clear as day.

In the aftermath it had not taken long for his involvement to be discovered by those he called kin. Elgar'nan's wrath had been stayed only by Mythal's hand, as it always had, but she had not been silent about her disappointment in Fen'Harel's actions. It had been in that moment when his disappointment in her apathy towards the injustice in their society had taken shape, and after the meeting had ended he had returned to the seat of his temple where he remained in solitude, letting himself stew in his guilt while he admonished himself for his foolishness.

On stage the main actor had been joined by his fellow performers, all of them playing roles of other nobles that were as heroic and just as the lead. The music that filled the theatre was as overblown and pompous as the entire play had so far been, and Fen'Harel could not help but wonder if Mythal had chosen it to teach him some kind of lesson.

The sound of fabric rustling behind him reached his ears through the music and with a flick of his hand, the wisp he had played with was sent back to the Fade before he sunk further down in his chair to rest his chin on his hand. His look of complete boredom remained.

"I was beginning to think you would not make an appearance," he said casually without turning around. "I believe they are about to start the slaughter."

He heard the sound of soft footsteps as they approached his seat.

"Excellent. I do love a good slaughter." The voice did not belong to Mythal.

Fen'Harel quickly whipped his head around and saw a hooded man. Shadows covered his face but it was not enough to hide the markings of Falon'Din that were etched into his features, or his violet eyes that glinted as it reflected the light from the runes. The vallaslin marked him as a slave but it contrasted heavily with the rest of his appearance. The man lacked the hunched down posture that years of hard work and malnourishment would have given him and instead he seemed almost proud as he stood tall. The robes he wore were clean and whole, and though he was clearly attempting to shroud it, Fen'Harel could almost hear the song of the Fade as it drew to the man like moth to a flame, ready to reshape itself at his command. He may have worn the markings of servitude, but he was no ordinary slave.

Fen'Harel eyed the stranger sharply. No doubt, he mused, the man was a high ranking slave serving one of the nobles downstairs and had been sent up to make an offering in exchange for blessings on his noble's house. Fen'Harel returned to resting his head on his chin while following the play with feigned disinterest. He was in no mood to listen to a noble's pandered messages.

"Return to whomever sent you and tell them not to bother me again," he said.

The stranger laughed.

"Oh, you see my markings and think I've been sent up to rub your feet? How very rich of you, Dread Wolf. Don't worry, I'm here on my own volition."

Fen'Harel looked back at him, taken aback by his nerve. Never before had one of the elvhen mocked him in his presence, certainly not one marked with the bindings of slavery. His surprise quickly turned into suspicion.

"How very kind of you," he remarked dryly. "I would entertain you, but I am already expecting company and it would do you well to leave."

The man only smiled, and then he took a seat in the chair next to Fen'Harel. It was a crime punishable by death for a slave to sit on a place meant for nobles and rulers. Fen'Harel had no intention of striking the man down, but the threat itself did not seem to bother the slave as he nonchalantly slumped down in the chair.

"Mythal isn't coming," he said while he glanced at the play. "You see, I had to speak with you, and since you've been cooped up in your temple for the past five decades feeling sorry for yourself, sending you messages in Mythal's name seemed the best course of action to get you out of there."

The realisation that he had been lured out like prey in a trap slowly sunk in. The writing _had_ looked like Mythal's and the slave who had brought the messages to him had worn her markings. Even the way the messages had been worded sounded like Mythal. By all accounts, the stranger had committed the highest of crimes by impersonating Mythal, but if that bothered him he made no show of it. Fen'Harel looked at him in disbelief.

"I cannot decide whether you are brave or foolish."

The man shrugged and smiled.

"Why not both?"

His smile faltered only when he caught Fen'Harel's stare. _So there is fear there after all_ , he thought, and disbelief gave way to curiosity. Not that he would show it. He once again looked away from the man and resumed his look of stoic disinterest.

"I wonder what could be so important that you would break the highest laws of Elvhenan to seek me out."

"I'm glad you asked," the stranger said enthusiastically. "I recently lost contact with one of my people. At first I thought he had met an unfortunate fate at the hands of his mistress, but I've had no response from my other contacts in the same region."

"So you are a spy," Fen'Harel remarked.

"Of sorts."

The answer came as no surprise to him. The underground society amongst the slaves of Elvhenan was a well-known fact to those who knew where to look. Whilst the nobles loved to believe that they had complete control of their property, the truth was that their slaves often traded and sold goods amongst each other. The highest commodity were secrets. Nobles and wealthy merchants danced around each other, plotting and backstabbing, while few of them realised that their secrets were being sold and exchanged by their slaves. In larger cities slaves often formed trading groups, gathering information while selling it to the highest bidder. Fen'Harel assumed that the stranger was in charge of one such group, though he could not figure out where he was going with his story.

"I fail to see why this is cause for concern. Slave purges are not uncommon." He stated it as cold fact but the familiar feeling of revulsion at the method used to control the slave population simmered within.

"I am well aware of that," the stranger replied, and for the first time since his arrival, Fen'Harel could hear a note of anger in his voice, "but this is not it. At any rate, despite what's said, purges are never very effective and I knew that my contacts would have managed to stay clear of it had one occurred. After several days of silence, I attempted to sneak through the eluvians to travel to the city, but I found them dark."

 _That_ definitely piqued his curiosity. Few had the authority to close the eluvians, and even then the People had to have the permission from one of his kin to do so. The last time the eluvians had been closed had been at Shivanas. Fen'Harel bitterly remembered the moment when June had ordered his priests to shut the mirrors down to prevent slaves from entering or escaping, but even then it had taken months before the decision had been made. It was not a choice made lightly.

"How very interesting," he said, sounding as if he thought the complete opposite.

"Yes, I thought so too," the stranger replied happily, no trace of the anger that had been in his voice remaining. "When I made the discovery I decided to travel to the neighbouring city and see if I could travel on foot. Unfortunately, I discovered that the eluvians leading there had also been closed. By all accounts, all eluvians leading to central Revasan are dark."

Andruil's lands. Fen'Harel's mind raced while he digested the news. When was the last time he had seen her? Brief memories of the victory ball held after the rebellion at Shivanas appeared, followed by memories of the private meeting hosted by Mythal, where Elgar'nan's rage had nearly suffocated the room as he had shouted at Fen'Harel. The others had all been there, though none of them had spoken. He came to the realisation that that had been the last time he had seen any of them. There had been no reason for them to gather since that meeting. Andruil shutting down the eluvians, however, was something which _should_ have caught the attention of Elgar'nan and Mythal. Fen'Harel found Andruil vicious and bloodthirsty, giving in to her need of hunting the slaves forced into her service instead of helping them, yet even she would not be so foolish to isolate her cities from the rest of society.

"How long has it been since you made this discovery?"

"A few months."

His brow creased at the answer. If the stranger's information was to be trusted it was odd that no word of it had spread. He knew several nobles seated in the audience below who belonged to families that relied on trading contracts to and from Revasan to maintain their wealth; if their trade had been interrupted, there was no doubt in his mind that they would have complained about it during the mingling before the opera had begun.

"Why go through all this effort to tell me about this?"

Below the audience cheered and applauded while the hero of the opera duelled one of the leaders of the rebellion. The music accompanying the scene was so dramatic one would have thought that the hero was battling a dragon, rather than a slave. The stranger waited for the duel to be over before he gave his answer.

"Because you are the protector of the People, Fen'Harel, or am I mistaken?" Fen'Harel looked at him and noticed the smile on his lips. "Unlike these nobles," he said, gesturing down to the audience below, "we slaves remember the true story of the rebellion at Shivanas, and we _know_ who it was that encouraged us to fight for our freedom."


	10. Dirthavaren

**Chapter 10. Dirthavaren**

The air at Dirthavaren was heavy with the smell of death and smoke. Its fields were coloured red with the blood of fallen elves, their lifeless eyes staring blindly at Solas, slowly fogging over as death took its course. Some of them had died still holding on to their weapons in a steadfast grip, others were empty-handed, their weapons scattering across the fields, blood-stained and trampled into the ground. Nearly all of them lay next to the corpses of their canine companions, having spent their last moments shielding, or being protected, by them.

Their brothers and sisters barely looked down at their fallen kin as they ran past them, charging at the army fighting under the banner of the Chantry. Battle cries fell from their lips – prayers to their gods in the ancient tongue – and with unrelenting force they attacked. Soon the air was heavy with the roar of battle; metal striking metal, cries of pain and shouts of command.

Flame arrows lit the night, leaving trails of smoke behind them as they soared through the sky before they rained onto the human army. Most soldiers acted quickly, raising their shields to protect themselves from the barrage; others were too slow. The fire caught cloth and fur and panicked screams drowned out everything else as the fire expanded and grew before it completely engulfed its victims. It was not long before the smell of charred flesh and fur permeated the air, stinging Solas' throat and nostrils.

It was the last stand of the Dales; the final desperate battle which had taken place after the Chantry – led army had razed Halamshiral. Standing in the middle of the battlefield, Solas watched the memory come to life and unfold around him. He could sense the fear of the elves, their hopelessness and despair, but he could also sense their determination. They were what remained of the Emerald Knights, sworn to protect the borders of the Dales from their enemies. They would not surrender.

Where one elf fell, another took its place in the formation, their snarling, vallaslin-marked faces shining with sweat, grime and blood. Adrenaline and rage rushed through their veins, fuelling sore and aching muscles, and tired minds after nearly a full day of fighting. Alongside them were the Knight's Guardians, the wolf companions who fought loyally next to their chosen knights. They attacked when the elves attacked, fangs and claws bared as they fearlessly pounced on their enemies, mercilessly tearing into flesh and bone. They fought bravely, but Solas knew that the battle had been lost before it had even begun.

Light flashed in the corner of his eye, bright and sudden, and he turned his head in time to feel the ripples through the Fade as an elf fade-stepped past him. She appeared in front of a surprised Chantry soldier, and within the blink of an eye she sent him flying back into his comrades with a powerful shockwave of raw magic. Another soldier attacked, striking her with his axe before bashing her with his shield. Her barrier shimmered over armour and skin, and she staggered back, momentarily stunned. Regaining her bearings quickly, she blocked his next strikes with her staff before she managed to hook it under the head of his axe. With a turn the weapon was knocked out of his hand. A look of surprise graced the soldier's features, quickly replaced with confusion when the elven mage placed the flat of her palm to his chest. A heartbeat later Solas once again felt the Fade around them twist and ripple. The soldier's armour began to glow brightly orange and his agonized screams filled the air. They quickly turned into pained whimpers as the metal melted and seared into his flesh, and it was not long before he had grown completely silent. When the elven mage withdrew her hand from his chest he collapsed to the ground, a charred corpse of melted flesh, metal and fur.

She was lighting up the sky, lightning crackling in the night before it struck the Chantry forces on the ground, when the blow came. Around her the memory dwindled; time slowed as small cracks ripped through the air, revealing the dull, green light of the Fade. Reality was being enforced and in this case the Fade _was_ that reality. Solas took a couple of steps towards the anomaly, eyes focused on it while he waited. He had witnessed the abilities used first-hand in the waking world, but never before in the realm of dreams, and he watched the event with no small amount of fascination.

The cracks grew larger while bright green light tore away at the edges, like fire burning parchment. For the fraction of a heartbeat he could feel an eerie presence pouring through. It skirted close enough to awaken the feelings of familiarity, but too far away to be able to place. A heartbeat later and it was gone. The cracks blurred, melting into the memory before vanishing completely, and time resumed its normal speed.

The elven mage fell to the ground on her back, gasping for air while the magical barrier protecting her dissipated in a burst of white light. Solas watched her raise her hand to call forth a spell, but nothing came. Her connection to the Fade had been temporarily severed and the Templar responsible for smiting her was charging at her, the insignia of the Chantry barely legible on his blood-stained shield. The mage had managed to stand up on shaky legs, still dazed, when the Templar reached her. She managed to block his first few strikes with her staff, but it was ultimately futile. The Templar bashed his shield into her side and she was knocked back down to the ground. She did not get a chance to recover before he plunged his sword into her chest, twisting it as he sank the blade deeper. She stared up at her attacker, eyes wide in shock and lips parted, but no sound came from her. Solas thought her dead, and then she coughed. Blood bubbled up from her mouth, seeping down her jawline before it dripped onto the earth, and before death took her he saw her lips move, the name leaving them barely more than a whisper. He turned away.

The presence he had felt through the cracks returned, close enough to recognize as it was concentrated behind him.

"You should not blame yourself for their deaths."

The voice was both loud and whispering, echoing around him and murmuring in his ears at once. It dulled out the roar of the battle around him.

"I do not," he stated calmly.

"You lie poorly, Fen'Harel." He detected a note of amusement in the voice and turned to look at his old friend.

"It is good to see you, lethallin."

The corners of Wisdom's lips curled into a faint smile, her glowing green eyes observing him curiously.

"You have seen this memory before. Why return to it?"

He looked away, watched the muted chaos around them. More bodies lay on the ground, more dead elvhen, young and old, and their empty, milky eyes all stared at him.

"I needed to remember."

Wisdom entered his field of vision, hands clasped behind her back and brows knitted together while she looked at him.

"You do not forget, falon," she said. "What enlightenment could you gain from seeing this again?"

Solas sighed and looked into her eyes. He had come to this memory to regain his focus, to dissolve the rumble of confusion and doubt that had risen within him. With Wisdom there, he was now forced to face the facts that had remained difficult for him to swallow.

He had spent years keeping focused on his goal, refusing to let anything hinder him. Not even his mistake with Corypheus had taken him away from his path; in the aftermath of the Breach he had only seen it as a minor delay to his plans. All the lives lost, all the sacrifices his people had made, and his future self had made the choice to throw it all away. _You called me 'vhenan',_ Alyn had said, and her words had affected him more than he wanted to admit.

At first he had wondered if his future self had meant it. After all, he would not have put it past himself to use it as a tool, a weakness to exploit. Then he had thought back to Redcliffe, to the growing dread he had felt when Alexius had cast his spell; to the cold panic that had steadily risen within him when he had looked to where Alyn had stood, only to see nothing but a pile of ash. She had only been gone for a few moments, but it had been enough. Enough for him to sink into himself, to feel his chest tighten with pain he had not thought himself able to feel anymore. Enough to feel an almost frantic level of fear and anger, to want vengeance.

When she had reappeared he had let out a sigh of relief, quickly burying what had transpired in him during the few heartbeats she had been gone. Everything had returned to whatever could be considered normality, or so he had told himself as he had tried to forget the effect her disappearance had had on him.

In another life she had not reappeared. In another life he would have thought that whatever remained of her was a small rubble of ash. In another life he would still have thought her dead, something he would have continued to believe for a year. In another life he had called her vhenan, and when he thought back to what he had felt when he had thought her dead, he knew that his future self had meant it.

It remained a difficult truth for him to swallow.

"When we last spoke, you told me she will change everything. Tell me, lethallin, what makes you believe that?"

Wisdom's brows raised upwards and her eyes narrowed as they searched his face.

"She has already changed everything. Were you not so focused on the past, you would already see it."

She held out her hand. Solas looked at it, watched the green smoke that danced and crawled around the skin she had created for herself before he felt his brow crease and he looked back at her.

"She may know enough to complicate matters," he said, "but she has changed nothing."

Wisdom's smile faltered and she lowered her gaze, looking at her outstretched hand.

"Is that what you believe or what you want to believe?" Her voice was a ghosting whisper in his ears, echoing in the space between them. "Tell me, how did she come to find out who you are?"

He swallowed and looked away, trying to distract himself by focusing on the battle. He saw an Emerald Knight sneak up behind an Orlesian soldier, jamming a dagger into a weak point into the side of the bulky armour before kicking the back of the soldier's knees, forcing him down to the ground. A moment later the elf had placed his hands on each side of the soldier's head and snapped it to the side. A crack was heard, dull and distorted as it reached Solas' ears, and the Orlesian fell to the ground, his neck broken. The elf barely gave himself time to rest before he removed his dagger from the Orlesian's side and disappeared back into the shadows.

"Show me, falon."

His gaze shifted back to Wisdom, resting on her face before moving down to her still outstretched hand. After a moment's hesitation he sighed and took it. The smoke on her skin stretched out over his hand, wanting, seeking, and he looked back into Wisdom's eyes.

Around them the Fade shifted and moved, transforming and changing until they were both stood against a wall in a cabin. Quietly they watched the confrontation which had taken between Alyn and him right before Corypheus had attacked Haven. The memory of hearing his name being spat out from her lips sent a shockwave of emotions through the cabin, blurring lines and edges until nothing but a smudge of colours remained. Their voices, however, remained as loud and clear as ever.

" _How did you find out?"_

"You _told me at Redcliffe! Congratulations, Fen'Harel, your betrayals finally reached a full circle. You betrayed yourself."_

A breath he was not aware he had been holding left his lungs and his grip around Wisdom's hand tightened. They remained still, listening to the rest of the confrontation until he'd had enough. He focused on Dirthavaren, trying to ignore Alyn's strangled sobs that echoed all around, and once again the Fade moved to engulf them.

When they were not returned to the blood-soaked battlefield and instead felt the chill of winter on their skin, he knew that something was wrong. He was losing control of his memories and dread settled in when their surroundings changed until they found themselves in a cold tent.

They watched him as he worked to bring colour back to Alyn's worryingly pale skin. Although she was unconscious, the pain that came with regaining feeling in her limbs was great enough to make her cry out and struggle against him. He pressed his palm to her chest, keeping her still while the magic surged through his other hand to warm her skin.

" _Ma'eth, Alyn,"_ his memory said. " _Ma'eth."_

He swallowed while he listened to himself repeating the words, trying to calm her even if she could not hear him. She screamed and the scene twisted.

Snow rose up from the ground, transforming into a storm that ripped the tent apart and clouded the image of himself and Alyn. For a moment the snow was all they could see, and then the storm abated as quickly as it had appeared. They ended up in the clearing outside the refugee camp in the Frostback Mountains, the playful song of Veilfire filling their ears. It was temporarily drowned out when she heard Alyn curse before she raced past them. Then she stopped, her fists clenching and unclenching, and Solas knew what would come. Of all the memories he could have shown Wisdom, this was not one he wanted to share, even if she was one of his oldest friends. His mind raced as he tried to regain control of the Fade while his stomach twisted into knots. Outwardly he schooled his features into a mask of calmness.

" _You called me 'vhenan',"_ Alyn said and a sound of surprise came from Wisdom.

"Fen'Harel?"

He ignored her. _Vhenan_ rung in his ears, engulfing him like a blanket, so warm it felt like it was burning his skin, and anger roiled within him, both at his present and future self. How foolish had his future self been to throw everything away for mere emotions. It had been reckless, irresponsible, and yet he sensed the hint of underlying jealousy. The realisation of that fact shocked him. The air flashed and suddenly they were immersed into new memories, new surroundings.

They were back in his cabin at Haven, watching Alyn and him sitting next to each other on the floor, the heat of a wood-fire warming them.

" _The_ Breach _should be their biggest concern, not whether or not I choose to play a part so that their fragile egos can have an easier time accepting that an_ elf _holds the key to closing it. Besides, everyone has a choice."_

" _Choices are easy to make; living with the consequences of our decisions is the difficult part."_

The cabin was ripped apart, shredded wood planks and furniture flying in the air while rounded, fresco-painted walls rose from the ground to form the rotunda at Skyhold. He tensed up, felt the beads of sweat on his brow as he worked frantically to take them back to Dirthavaren. The rapid pace at which the Fade had changed and moved around them was dangerous; there was no doubt in his mind that they had already attracted demons. They needed to leave, yet they remained stuck.

Ravens squawked above them as they watched him and Alyn stood in the middle of the rotunda, mere inches away from each other.

" _You rebelled against the gods, didn't you?"_

" _We were never gods, Alyn."_

Solas sighed. It had been a foolish thing to say, but the memories of the rebellion had weighed heavy on his mind and the words had escaped his lips without thought. Had he not learned his lesson after he had tried to share his knowledge with the Dalish in the past? He should have controlled himself  
better, and yet he had found himself struggling with the part of himself that _wanted_ her to know. She had approached him in an effort to seek understanding, after all.

After his revelation, Alyn paled. He watched as she crossed her arms over her chest, rubbing her hands over her arms as if suddenly cold. After a long moment of silence she eventually cleared her throat.

" _I need to think,"_ she whispered, and then her image was gone.

"It seems like a reasonable reaction," Wisdom murmured.

Solas shot her a look before he once again felt the Fade shift, already unravelling the scene of his next memory.

"Enough!" he snapped while he raised his hand to tear it down. The walls crashed into the ground, dissipating into tiny wisps, and finally they reappeared on the war-torn grounds of Dirthavaren.

He let go of Wisdom's hand, rubbing the bridge of his nose while he tried to regain a sense of calm.

Wisdom's gaze bore into him while lines of concern creased her forehead.

"You worry too much, Fen'Harel. Always remembering, always wandering, always searching for the past only to mourn it. You carry the sorrows of the ages, too blinded by dreams long forgotten to see the present. You need to accept that the world has changed."

He grit his teeth together, took a deep breath through his nose while he ignored the smell of death and charred flesh.

"I cannot do that," he replied wearily.

"There is no one stopping you but yourself. Why are you unable to let go?"

"Because I am the protector of the People!" he snapped, throwing his arm out towards the battle. "Look at what happened to them. Shall I turn a blind eye while the elvhen remain shadows of what we once were, living in squalor while they distort our history and culture?" He sighed. "It was my mistakes that placed them there. I cannot sit by and accept that nothing can be done."

Wisdom remained calm in the wake of his outburst.

"They once saw you as their guardian, Fen'Harel, but perhaps your protection is not what they need in order to be able to break free from what they are."

He shook his head. He could not accept that. His actions, actions made by a man who had thought he knew everything, were what had set everything in motion, breaking the People down until nothing of their former glory remained. Drastic and desperate measures had been taken back then, and the world would not be restored to what it had once been unless he fixed his mistakes.

"It seems, "Wisdom added, "as if the Fen'Harel the Inquisitor met at Redcliffe agreed with me."

Solas remained quiet, his eyes moving over the battlefield. The night sky had turned to dark shades of blue, slowly brightening as dawn approached. Where the elven army had taken advantage of their superior night vision to deal effective losses to their enemies, the tide of the battle would soon turn. Somewhere in the massive crowd was Lindirane, the Emerald Knight who had led the fight at Dirthavaren and rallied the remnants of the elven army to fight back. She would be killed before sunrise.

"We are not alone."

Wisdom's words had not fully sunken in before a loud roar filled the air. The landscape was bathed in bright green light and Solas shielded his eyes from it before he scanned the field, trying to locate the source. It did not take him long to find it. Deep into the bulk of the human army, floating in the sky, was a Fade Rift. Dread and confusion rose within him as his mind leaped to the worst possible conclusions. Had Corypheus managed to find another way to enter the Fade? Were the rifts spreading into the Fade itself? He glanced back at Wisdom.

"You should not remain here, lethallin."

He began to walk, then ran in the direction of the still pulsating and roaring rift. He did not bother skirting through the chaos of the battlefield. Soldiers flickered and shimmered as he ran through them unaware of his intrusion, and of the rift.

Beyond the frontline of the human army he saw more dead elves; the first losses of the battle, trampled on and ignored as the human army had advanced and pushed further. He took care to avoid their bodies as he ran, even when he knew they were mere visions.

The rift grew brighter and louder as he closed in on it, tendrils of green light crackling in the air around it. When he finally reached it he searched frantically for its creator, and then he froze in his tracks.

Standing on the other side of the rift, right hand wrapped so tightly around the wrist of her left that her knuckles were white, was Alyn. She was staring down at her anchor with wide eyes and furrowed brows, lips pulled back slightly to reveal teeth gritted together. He looked up at the rift. Countless questions emerged, none of them relevant if the woman in front of him was nothing more than a demon that had taken her form. He took a small step forward, his eyes narrowed while he observed her, trying to find anything that would indicate if it was her. His mind told him it was not possible; she was not a somniari and was not able to travel through memories like he could.

Yet when the rift above them disappeared, its loud roar shaking the earth, she looked up, meeting his eyes, and he knew it was truly her. _Impossible._ His gaze flickered between her and the place where the rift had been, mind racing as he thought of the implications of what had happened, of what was still happening. _Impossible._ The anchor flashed in her hand, causing her to wince, and he looked at it, wondering, dreading. The anchor was a part of her, but it was his magic, his essence, his power. She was not a somniari but, for better or worse, the anchor had made her one.

 _She changes everything._ Wisdom had been right.

Alyn was trembling. Confusion marred her features; wide blue eyes filled with shock and fear moving frantically as she watched him. Then she looked away, taking in their surroundings as if it was the first time she had noticed it. The corners of her lips sank down, and even through the muted roar of the fighting around them he could hear her rapid, shaky breathing.

"I thought it was real," she said, her voice hoarse and wavering. "I thought it was real and I panicked. The anchor—"

Her voice died and her jaw tensed up, eyes darkening slightly as they lingered on something in the distance. Following her gaze he soon discovered a dead halla. Once it had been the noble steed of an Emerald Knight. Now it lay lifeless on the ground, several arrows lodged into its long neck and white coat tinted red with blood. Its antlers, once beautifully curved into intricate patterns, were nothing more than stumps. It seemed that not even the heat of battle could stop the Orlesians from collecting trophies.

"This is a memory." It was a statement, but she still looked back at him as if waiting for an answer.

"Yes."

She turned away, rubbing her marked hand absentmindedly while she walked into the fray of the battle. He followed her quietly. On this side of the battlefield, the humans had the upper hand. There seemed to be nowhere they could turn without seeing Emerald Knights bested in one-to-one combat, or merely getting overwhelmed from the sheer numbers of enemies.

A Templar suddenly fell to the ground in front of her, blood seeping down from his neck where an arrow had struck him. She jerked back with a surprised gasp, taking several hurried steps backwards to get as far away from him as possible. The Templar rose to his knees, using his shield as support, before he plunged his sword into the back of an unsuspecting Emerald Knight. The elf cried out in shock, his body twisting in pain before he collapsed, and a moment later another arrow whizzed through the air before it pierced the Templar's head. He toppled over on the ground, arm still resting on his shield. Alyn stared at it, incomprehension and disbelief creased around her eyes.

"What is this?" Solas heard her whisper.

"The Exalted March. The last stand of the Emerald Knights after the fall of Halamshiral."

She looked back at him startled, as if she had forgotten his presence.

"What?"

"The Exalted March of the Dales," he clarified.

"Yes, I figured _that_ out!" she snapped before she placed a hand over her eyes and took a deep breath. "Ir abelas. I didn't mean to… It's never felt this _real_ before. I can't think… They're afraid, they're so afraid. Why is this happening?"

Solas approached her slowly, carefully, until he stood in front of her. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders but paused, his hands lingering above them just out of reach. She had not noticed him. Her hand was still on her eyes but her voice had reduced to a barely audible whisper, words coming out in a ramble that were interrupted only by her increasingly shaky breathing. She would be in danger unless she regained control quickly.

"Inquisitor."

She did not hear him and he tried again.

"Alyn."

Still there was no response. Slowly he rested his hands on her shoulders, making sure to keep the touch feather light. It was enough to make her startle and she gasped. Her hand dropped from her face, revealing wide, tear-filled eyes that snapped up to look at him.

"You are in control. Focus your will and look beyond their thoughts and emotions."

Her hands grasped his arms tightly and she stared at him with an almost pained expression on her face. Her breathing was becoming more frantic and panicked and he pressed her shoulders gently in an attempt to comfort her.

"You are in control," he repeated. "Focus."

He saw her try. She closed her mouth and tried to take deep breaths through her nose as she attempted to calm down, but it was not enough. Tears streamed down her eyes and quiet sobs wracked her body while more and more soldiers died around them. It was when he felt another familiar, hostile presence in the memory, heard a scream he had heard countless times in the waking world, that he knew she was in danger. In the distance he saw the grey, raggedly cloaked form of a despair demon, its bare feet forming pools of ice on the ground as it walked in search of Alyn. He acted fast. He cupped her face and looked into her eyes, and as the first rays of sun reached them from the east, he gave her a comforting smile and whispered:

"Wake up."


End file.
